The Keeper of Fate
by Kat.R.777
Summary: The Fates are supposed to have everything all figured out. You can't change destiny, or so they say. But when a god comes to me asking me to defy the forces that supposedly control the inevitable... Well, what's a girl to do? Luke/OC
1. I Am Summoned to the House of Doom

**MAIN TITLE: The Keeper of Fate**

**GENRE: Mainly Romance, Adventure, and Humour (YMMV on whether or not my writing is actually funny at all), but also Friendship, Family, Angst, etc. **

**SETTING: Takes place 'behind the scenes' of the PJO books, meaning little interaction with Percy and absolutely no OCs stealing his glory. Canon for now, will eventually be AU.**

**CHARACTERS: OFC named Dess (main protagonist and narrator of the entire story), Luke, and Apollo. Other fairly major characters include an OMC named Kyle, a certain canon Hunter, Clarisse, several children of Hephaestus, and another OFC named Cheryl.**

**PAIRINGS: Mainly Luke/OFC (Dess). Background pairings include canon pairings and pairings involving minor demigods and/or OCs. There are NO major love triangles.**

**RATING: T for ****minor coarse language**** (the F word is only used once in the entire story, but other swear words are used probably more often than they should be), ****mild violence**** (nothing that much more graphic than the actual series), and ****minor suggestive adult themes**** (there will be two scenes that do not progress beyond kissing and light groping, neither of which will be described in detail; everything else is implied and happens off-screen).**

**WARNINGS: ****Rated T**** for reasons stated above. Also, contains mentions of ****bulimia and child abuse**** (no actual violence, but I'd still consider it physical abuse and it's definitely psychological abuse) in later chapters. ****SPOILERS**** for the PJO series. NO major spoilers from the HoO series (Drew and Clovis from ****_The Lost Hero _****appear though). ****Very infrequent updates****. ****Contains OCs****.**

**NOTES: Thanks to everyone for reading this story, and to those who favourite it and/or put it on alert.**

**Thanks to **Son of none**,** GreyBlur**, **PurpleandBlackPandas **and **Callie C **for reviewing this chapter!**

**To **JessMusicNote** and ** GoddessofHeroes **(not that they're likely to ever see this): I realized a while ago that you both have added this story to your communities, and I really wanted to thank you for that. It means a lot to me that you consider my story good enough to be in your communities.**

**This is the only time the author's note will be this long. **

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own the PJO series. Rick Riordan does.**

* * *

**Chapter One: I Am Summoned to the House of Doom**

It's amazing, really, how the little things can sometimes get to me. Like when I'm lying in my bed, snoring away, and some absolute _idiot_ decides it's a good idea to poke me in the stomach with his finger. Not that I actually, you know, _snore_ or anything. I'm just being figurative. Anyways, anyone who knows me at all and has even a shred of self-preservation knows that it's a terrible idea to disturb me when I'm in Hypnos' realm.

My right hand already balled up into a fist, I open my eyes to find a preteen boy standing over me, his curly brown hair almost obscuring the tiny horns that protrude out of his head. Now I know you're probably thinking, '_Horns_? That's impossible! Humans don't have horns coming out of their heads!' and blah, blah, blah. You're right, of course. Most humans only have hair growing out of their heads. Which brings me to my next point–Grover's not human. He's a satyr: half boy (I refuse to refer to him as a man in any way, shape, or form), half goat. So the fact that he has shaggy hindquarters and cloven hooves? Yeah, that's completely normal and doesn't bother me at all.

What _does_ bother me is that he's interrupting my much needed beauty sleep.

"Underwood," I say through clenched teeth, "you have ten seconds to vacate this cabin of your own free will before I _make_ you."

"But Chiron told me to bring you to the Big House!" Grover protests, at the same time backing away from my bed.

"I don't care if Zeus himself gave the order. I'm really–damn–tired and I'm going back to sleep. And if you insist on pestering me you will find yourself suddenly lacking several necessary limbs."

Grover opens his mouth again, probably to squeak out something along the lines of, 'But Chiron told me to!' and I'm two seconds away from throwing my extremely heavy Ancient Greek to English dictionary at him when someone else intervenes.

"Put a cork in it, you two. The rest of us are trying to sleep," Gareth Vires' deep voice rang out, his 'I'm-a-camp-counsellor-and-am-therefore-superior-to-you-all-obey-me-minions' tone very much present in his every word. Nah, I'm just kidding, he doesn't really sound like that. He's a decent guy; he just takes himself too seriously sometimes, that's all.

"_I'm_ trying to sleep," I complain, "but Underwood won't let me!"

There are grumbles throughout the cabin. Evidently our argument has disturbed the rest of my loving half-siblings, who don't seem to mind if I've been rudely awakened as long as _they _get to rest. They have no right to be annoyed; it's their fault that I was up so late last night and thus need a few extra Z's to function properly today. I don't know why they insisted we have that initiation ceremony thing yesterday even though I've already been here for a month. I mean, honestly, they forced me to take part in their stupid hamburger eating contest and then they sulked and whined until three in the morning because I won. I'm not really angry with them, though. I'm not quite that petty, and to be truthful, despite the massive stomach ache I got while shoving my sixth burger into my mouth, yesterday was a blast.

"_Blaa-ha-ha_," which is apparently the sound Grover makes when he's ticked. "I'm sorry I woke you up so early, but Chiron said this is really, _really _important."

All right, I'm still pissed at him, but there's something in his voice that tells me this is urgent. I hesitate. To go back to sleep and ignore Grover or not to back to sleep and ignore Grover? And no, I don't normally read Shakespeare; it's just that I made an exception for Hamlet, that's all. It was a real pain to decipher, though. The constant shifting of letters and the odd dialect from the Elizabethan era made me want pour bleach on my dyslexic eyes.

Beckendorf's not-as-deep-as-Gareth's-no-matter-how-hard-he-tries (and he _does _try) voice brings me back to reality. "For the love of Hephaestus, Dess, just go see Chiron. I promise we'll let you get some shuteye during archery class."

I glare at my third favourite half-brother suspiciously. "You _promise_ you'll let me skip target practice?"

"Considering the fact that I usually end up being the target, yes, I would be more than happy to let you doze through it."

Finally I concede defeat. I stumble out of my bed, feeling very grateful that I was so exhausted from eating so much food last night that I passed out before I got the chance to change out of my regular clothes and put on my pyjamas, which consist of sweat pants and a moderately revealing tank top, and make my way over to the satyr who is now standing by the door. As I reach him, Grover gives me an aggravated look that tells me I've made this much more difficult than it needs to be. That's nothing new, though, so I'm sure he'll forgive me soon.

Right before I close the cabin door behind me, I glance back and see my four black-haired half-brothers raising imaginary glasses in a mock toast. "To sleep!" they chorus as one. Beckendorf and the others grin at me. I give them all the finger and ignore their laughter, which seems to follow me all the way to the Big House.

* * *

Now by this point I've mentioned Greek gods and mythological creatures with goat legs, and I'm sure that those of you who picked up on the fact that I'm at some sort of camp probably think it's a camp for the mentally challenged. And while I'm more than willing to admit that a select few at Camp Half-Blood aren't exactly right in the head, I also feel obligated to inform you that the majority of the campers here are mentally sound.

I'm still not sure which category the camp director, Mr. D, falls into. He wears a tiger-pattern Hawaiian shirt, looks and sounds like a whiny, fat cherub and has little to no restraint when it comes to women and alcohol. You've probably already guessed this, but in case you haven't, the man I'm referring to is Dionysus, the god of wine.

You might have noticed that my description of one of the many sons of Zeus isn't at all complimentary, and that's because I'm not even remotely fond of him. Mr. D's not exactly good with kids. The only reason he's stuck at this camp is because he went crazy for this off-limits wood nymph–like I said, no restraint. But anyways, Zeus found out and blew his top. So now Mr. D can't drink alcohol and has to spend the next century or so babysitting bratty, snooty little half-mortals.

Yes, I did just say half-mortals. Gods are real, satyrs are real, and demigods–half human, half god–are real. I know this because my siblings and I–along with the rest of the campers–are demigods.

Maybe you think that's cool. Maybe you think it would be fun, to live in a world where myths and legends are real. And sometimes it is. But trust me, it really sucks when you have monsters after you who would like nothing more than to rip out your intestines. And the only place we're safe from these demons is right here, at Camp Half-Blood.

* * *

"…Not entirely sure why, but maybe you have some idea–Dess, are you listening to me?" Grover's words pull me out of my musings. I look around and realize that no one else is outside yet, probably because it's insanely early.

"Nope," I reply cheerfully. "I was daydreaming about this _wonderful _place where sixteen year old girls can sleep all they want without being rudely awakened by scrawny little goat boys."

The brown-haired satyr throws me an exasperated glance. "I said I was sorry. Would you _please_ just let it go?"

I consider this for a moment.

"Alright," I decide. "You're forgiven. You don't have to beg."

"I didn't _beg_," he mutters under his breath, and in a louder voice says, "Anyways, seeing as you weren't paying attention to what I was saying before, I'll say it again: I don't know why Chiron wants to talk to you."

"I did realize that, oddly enough. It comes as no surprise to me that you're entirely clueless," I inform him and, ignoring his glare, press on. "I'll find out what the old horse man wants when I get there." Which should be soon, provided that Grover stops sputtering indignantly over my disrespectful nickname for the trainer of Hercules and picks up the pace a little.

We're still passing through the area with the twelve cabins, one per Olympian god, arranged in a U. Eight of these cabins house that Olympian's demigod offspring. The other four are empty, although Zeus' cabin shouldn't be.

Stupid gods and their constant, 'I'm pissed at your father because he broke an oath that he made like seventy years ago, so I'm going to send my minions to torment you so that your father will have no choice but to turn you into a pine tree after you get yourself killed while trying to protect your friends.'

Well, all right, the gods don't do this _constantly_; it really only happened once. I've never even met Thalia, but I've heard her story and I've seen her pine tree and I've watched Annabeth–daughter of Athena–bawl her eyes out because she misses the girl who's like her older sister so badly. And whenever I hear about how the gods take their anger out on innocent people–mortals or demigods or whoever–, it makes me so mad that I see _red_.

Like right now, for instance. Wait, never mind, that's just the Ares cabin's ugly red paint job. I actually get along pretty well with the some of the spawn of Ares, but there really is no denying that the outside of cabin five is hideous, especially since Sherman and Mark put that creepy stuffed boar head over the doorway.

The Hephaestus cabin, on the other hand, is so spectacular that simply looking at it will blow your mind. And I'm not just saying that because Hephaestus is my father so his cabin is the one I live in when I'm at camp–which is all the time now.

But seriously, cabin nine is awesome. I know that most of the campers think it looks like a lame RV, but that's obviously because they have no appreciation for amazing art. The smokestacks that some of the others scoff at actually have depictions of interesting events carved into the sides. For instance, there's a more recent (and by recent I mean about twenty years old) picture that shows three sons of Hephaestus (triplets, in fact) forging the bronze dragon. It's such a shame it went missing. Maybe it could have helped Thalia and the others fight off all those monsters…

Anyways, back to a less depressing topic, the building that houses the children of Hephaestus also has these wicked metal-slated windows and a door that looks like the entrance to a bank vault and–oh, hey, how come I can't see my cabin anymore?

I glance down at my arm and am surprised to see a hand wrapped around my elbow. I realize that Grover has been dragging me toward the Big House the whole time I've been pondering the awesomeness that is the Hephaestus cabin.

"Dude, didn't anyone ever teach you manners?" I ask him, pulling my arm free.

"I guess we both missed that lesson," Grover shoots back, and I can't help but grin at him.

We take the most direct route, going straight across the creek–not Zephyros Creek, the other one that no one knows the name of–that separates the cabin area from the huge blue farmhouse. Grover, who is clearly annoyed with me for making his day-to-day life a living hell (his words, not mine), tries to push me into the water and instead falls in himself.

Honestly, it's stunts like that that make me forget he's actually in his twenties.

Finally we arrive at the door to the Big House. How long did that take us? Ten, twenty minutes? Definitely longer than necessary. It's all Grover's fault, of course. I had nothing to do with it. No, really.

Anyways, Grover decides he's had enough of me and my irksome attitude. He opens the door with one hand and pushes me through with the other. "See ya!" he says hastily, and then takes off as quickly as his little goat legs will let him. I watch him trot away, probably going to the forest to see that tree nymph, Juniper, that he is so obviously crushing on.

I turn around to face Chiron and the person standing beside him, who is thankfully not Dionysus. This fact relieves me so much that it takes me a full thirty seconds to identify the gorgeous teen with blond hair, blue eyes and a cocky smirk who is most definitely the reason I've been called here.

* * *

**Author's Note: Reviews, especially those containing constructive criticism, are appreciated. I don't have a problem with flames, though I would prefer if, instead of simply telling me this entire story sucks, you would tell me ****_why_**** it sucks and what I can do to improve it.**

**Edit as of 01/12/12: I've shortened all the Author's Notes, except for this chapter's, which I made longer so that you guys have a better idea of whether or not you actually want to spend time reading this story. I didn't change any of the actual story-except for the flashback in chapter 18, because I swear to God before it was like a commercial for Aussie shampoo-but I will eventually finish going through everything and correcting spelling and grammar and getting rid of unnecessary parts (of which there are a lot).**


	2. A God Hands Me the Fate of the World

**MAIN TITLE: The Keeper of Fate**

**WARNINGS: See first chapter for warnings.**

**NOTES: Thanks to **KittyKat**, **bookluver100** and **PurpleandBlackPandas** for reviewing this chapter!**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own PJO. Rick Riordan does.**

* * *

**Chapter Two: A God Hands Me the Fate of the World**

"APOLLO? You had Grover wake me up at _5:30 A.M._ because of _APOLLO_?" The words seem to explode out of me, even as some part of me realizes that shouting in front of a god isn't exactly a bright idea.

In case you haven't figured it out yet, the teenager I saw standing beside Chiron is none other than the god of the sun (and medicine, poetry, and archery, among other things). I've never met him before in my life, but he's showing off and exuding a golden glow, so it isn't hard to guess. Not to mention the fact that his sleeveless black T-shirt is emblazoned with the words, 'Apollo is Awesome,' which is a bit of a give away, if you know what I mean.

Anyways, I'm not making a very good impression. That's all right, though. I mean his twin sister Artemis, goddess of the moon, already hates me so my life couldn't really get much worse in terms of deities who want to reduce me to a puddle of slime.

With this in mind I go back to screeching at Chiron. "I cannot BELIEVE I was woken up at such an ungodly hour for some pretty boy with an ego the size of Mount Olympus–"

"Desdemona," the centaur interrupts me, his eyes darting nervously between the sun god and me while his tail flicks from side to side. I freeze as I realize that he used my full name. I never let _anyone_ use my full name. I'm about to chew him out, but Chiron is still trying to convey to me the danger that I'm in. "Consider who and what you are referring to."

Somehow Chiron's words get through to me. I should stop _right now_. I should apologize for shouting, for being rude and disrespectful and eighteen minutes late, but somehow the thought of asking for forgiveness makes me even angrier.

"I know who I'm _referring to_, thanks. I have eyes. I can _see_."

"Can you?" and it's not Chiron who's speaking now.

Apollo's voice washes over me like salt water, causing all the wounds I never knew I had to sting. A chill runs down my spine as his eyes, now the colour of ice, bore into mine. The blood drains from my face as I realize they weren't that shade of blue earlier. I've never felt fear like this. This being standing before me is a god. All-knowing. All-powerful. I want to turn around, to fling open the door and run and run and never stop.

But the god of prophecy isn't done talking yet. "Can you see beyond what's in front of you? Can you see the inescapable future laid out for you, the unbreakable chains that bind you to your fate? You forget, little girl, that I know much better than you do where the path you are walking on leads."

The last of his words fade, and then it's like a switch has been flipped. His eyes brighten and his smile–so cold just a few seconds ago–grows playful and almost flirtatious. He relaxes his stance; his previously motionless arms swing back and forth at his side. He has proven what he set out to prove.

The terror inside me evaporates, but I am still wary of provoking the black-clad teen. I shift my gaze to the old horse man, who looks positively stunned that I haven't been vaporized. After a moment or two he regains his composure.

"Right. Well, it seems that you no longer have need of my presence. I will leave you to talk in private." Chiron's hooves make clicking sounds against the floor as he canters over to the door. As if to prove that he does indeed care for me despite my slightly obnoxious conduct, he gives me a stern look that seems to say, 'Behave.'

Feeling mildly touched by his concern, I give him a weak smile which I hope states, 'Oh, believe me, I will.'

* * *

I walk along Fireworks Beach, barefoot, just enjoying the light breeze that caresses my face and the grains of sand between my toes. The lack of rambunctious laughter and enthusiastic shouts is the only evidence that the day is winding down. As summer progresses, the sunset comes later and later. At the beginning of July it peaks and starts to come earlier than the preceding days, but still later than usual. It's long past dinner, but the sky is just barely starting its transformation from a deep blue to a mixture of purple and pink with the last of the sun's golden light seeping through.

You know, normally I can't stand the water. I've feared it ever since I was a young child. It can be so chaotic; waves raging, crashing into the beach and then being ripped backwards by the tide. Always changing, churning, as if fighting some inner demon. But the sea is so calm today, and that's why I find myself walking along its shore. I need some small bit of serenity to help me stifle the panic that has been steadily growing since Apollo left.

It could be worse, of course. He could've made me go up to the attic and visit the Oracle. Oh gods, that would have been terrifying. My stomach drops as I realize I've been admitting to being afraid of more things (specifically really hot Greek gods, H20 and shriveled up mummies) today than I have in my entire life. Usually I've got too much pride to fess up and say I'm scared, but after everything that's happened today I feel sort of humbled. Still, I know that this increase in humility is only temporary. I'm sure I'll go back to being a self-absorbed witch–that's what Mr. D calls me on the off chance that he feels like acknowledging I exist–soon.

Which is stupid, because now I've got worse things to worry about than being woken up at unreasonable hours and what Cheryl Brookes, daughter of Aphrodite, will do when she realizes I put deer urine in her shampoo bottle. Not that I'm scared of her, or anything. I'm a better fighter than she is. Most people are.

But that's the thing, you see? Sure, I can kick the butt of one Justin Bieber-obsessed wimp, but so can almost everybody else. So why the heck did Apollo choose me for his little experiment? Yes, I can hold my own in a fight against average monsters, but I'll never be able to wield a sword the way the children of Athena do. I'll never be as strong as the Ares campers or as accurate with a bow and arrow as the Apollo kids. The only advantage I have is that I'm fast. When I'm not sleep deprived or being purposely unpleasant, I can run even faster than most of the tree nymphs.

In fact, I do almost everything at an accelerated pace. Walking, eating, talking (although only when I'm ranting), breathing… Pretty much everything except learning. And reading, which technically falls under the category of learning. Basically I'm really slow when it comes to any type of academics. I've been at camp all of June and the first week of July, and even after two hours with Annabeth everyday trying to learn ancient Greek I'm still not even remotely close to being able to speak, read, and understand it properly. I get a pounding headache every time I so much as glance at the letters. And on top of all that, it's extremely degrading to have a ten year old teaching you a language which she apparently mastered in less than a month. If it weren't for the fact that she's the daughter of the goddess of wisdom, I swear I would die of shame.

Anyways, back to the original point, the truth is that while I know I belong with my brothers and my friends in terms of companionship, when it comes to fighting ability I don't really fit in anywhere. So what it really all boils down to is that I've got to be the absolute worst person to save the world, even if you don't include my sanity–or lack thereof–issues.

Yeah, you heard me right. Back when we were talking in the Big House, Apollo asked me to (sort of) save the world. He didn't send me to the Oracle to get a prophecy, because the whole point of his request is that he wants me to _defy_ a prophecy. And not just any prophecy. No, it has to be the super dangerous Great Prophecy that predicts that a child of the Big Three might end up destroying all of civilization. The prophecy doesn't mention me at all, so why did Apollo come to me about this? More to the point, he's the god of foresight so why the heck does he even want someone to go against the future that his precious Oracle predicted?

That's actually the first thing I asked him when he told me what he required. And you know what his answer was?

_"I don't really think you can change anything. You're just a kid, you know? Kinda pretty, sure, but not nearly as awesome as us immortal gods. Specifically me. I mean, I'm on an entirely different level than you. But you're the only choice I have, and there are definitely people who will lose their lives if the future plays out the way it's supposed to." _

That right there should be enough to clue anyone in on the fact that he's incredibly vain. But he didn't stop there, and if you can believe it, he sounded even more arrogant as he went on.

_"Even if we win, there's no guarantee_ _that all of the gods will survive. Can you imagine a world without me? There would be nothing left worth living for. Don't look at me like that. I'm not conceited; I'm thinking of others. Do you know how devastated people would be if I was gone? I mean, I'm just so important; Artemis would be lost without me and it would be tragic for her hunters. A lot of them don't know what their missing until they meet me. Just think, without me they might stay celibate forever! And my children; my poor, beloved children. They would be so desolate. They depend on me to brighten their lives with my magnificence. Oh, and they might also die if you don't change the future. Seriously, stop looking at me like that. Just because I place my safety above their own doesn't mean I don't care about them. I was only thinking of their happiness."_

And yes, he did actually say all of that. For the next few minutes he babbled on about this and that, and then thankfully his speech wound down. He left me with these oh-so inspiring (note the sarcasm) parting words:

_"So yeah, I don't think you can do it, but I might as well let you try. Not to mention, I always did like a challenge. Try not to mess up so badly that you destroy the planet. See ya_–_wait! I can't believe I almost forgot:_

I ask for your help,

But you're not as cool as me

So you'll probably fail.

_To think I almost deprived you of my spectacular haikus. Anyways, hope my epic poetry brightened your day. 'Til we meet again." _

He left before I could tell him that his last line had too many syllables.

I sigh and kick a small pebble into the water, though I instantly regret it. The resulting ripples remind me that my actions now have serious consequences. What if, in my quest to change things, I only make things worse?

But what if I don't act? What if I let things happen the way they should? Surely nothing _too_ terrible will happen.

Apollo's words echo in my head. _"There are definitely people who will lose their lives if the future plays out the way it's supposed to_._"_

My siblings, who brought me to the forges and made me a part of their family the second I stepped through the door; the Stoll brothers, who were the only ones who made me feel welcome during my brief stay in the Hermes cabin; Clarisse, who is actually a lot more understanding than she seems and who beats up the people who make fun of me for looking so different from the other Hephaestus kids. The list goes on, and as I picture their faces the knowledge that one of them might die makes me want to throw up. How can I look the other campers in the eye knowing that I'm not doing my very best to save them from their fates? Well that's an easy one. I can't.

So I _will_ do my very best, then. But how do I do that? And what if my best isn't good enough?

"Dess?"

The voice takes me by surprise and I whirl around in shock. I relax as my eyes fall on Zeth, my least favourite brother. He's very reserved, very quiet, and it takes a lot–like a hamburger eating contest, for instance–to coax him out of his shell. But I want you to understand something. When I say he's my least favourite brother, I just mean that because he's so shy, I don't connect with him as much as I do with Beckendorf, Gareth, and Jake. But that doesn't mean that I don't love him. Because I do. I love all my siblings, even though I've only known them for a little more than a month.

Zeth's brown eyes bore into mine and I know he can tell something's wrong. But he just looks at me for a moment and then holds out his hand. I take it and he pulls me back toward the cabins, or maybe we're going to go steal some carrots from Katie Gardner's private stash because I skipped dinner.

It doesn't really matter where we're going, though. Because looking at my half-brother, I know that I'll do whatever it takes to protect him and all the other campers. And it won't be as difficult as I've been thinking it will be. Maybe I'm only an average archer, maybe I'm rude most of the time and impatient. But that doesn't matter. Because looking at my half-brother, I know that whatever else I may be, I'm not alone.

* * *

It's almost curfew when I return to cabin nine. Zeth did indeed take me on a quest to raid Katie Gardner's hidden horde of the orange vegetables that we call carrots. Gardner calls them her babies. She doesn't eat them, you see. Instead she takes care of them like they're human children. Which I guess makes Zeth and me cannibals. Whatever. We only ate the ones she hasn't named. Those are the ones she's not extremely attached to. She's still mildly fond of them, though, so she might be pissed if she finds out. Oh well. I was hungry; how can I deny myself sustenance?

After all of this took place Zeth decided to head back to our cabin to give me the alone time I apparently desperately craved. Personally I think he just wanted to shut himself up in his underground lair and plot the demise of the Myrmekes, who are giant ants that adore shiny metals. One of them stole Zeth's pocket blowtorch. Yeah, you heard me right. Dad gives one to all of his children when he claims them. Normal kids get pocket knives. We get pocket blowtorches. Go figure. Though I think Hephaestus might trash that tradition considering the, uh, _incident_. Which involved lots of wild flames and Cheryl's hair catching fire. Which had nothing to do with me. Clearly.

So anyways, I'm back at the cabin now. I open the door and, ignoring the smoke and turning gears, slip through. None of my siblings look up as I quietly shut the door behind me, but it's a surprise to see the boys here at all. Especially Zeth.

Apparently I was wrong to assume that he was holed up in his underground room–we all have one, in fact there's a whole network of tunnels underneath our cabin–because here he is, lying on his bed, struggling through the Iliad. What a nerd. I know that sounds mean, it's just that–well, honestly, we're _dyslexic_. We have the perfect excuse to get out of reading the books teachers assign, but Zeth reads them all anyways. And he's not even reading the Iliad because Chiron told him to. It's for fun. Whatever, I guess it doesn't really matter. We all have our quirks, and Hephaestus knows that mine are even weirder than most.

In contrast to Zeth's heavy reading material, Jake is flipping through a comic book. Such a dedicated student. Jake's the youngest out of all of us, only eleven years old, but he's my favourite. I'm closer to him than I am to the others, so I can usually tell what he's thinking or feeling. And right now he's not paying attention to a single page of his Archie comic book. Actually, now that I think about it, Zeth doesn't look like he's focusing that much on Homer. Beckendorf and even Gareth don't look too absorbed in the blueprints they're scanning.

I make my way over to the bed labeled 3A, which doesn't have as many cool features as Gareth's does. I plop down onto the soft mattress–did you think we slept on metal?–and sneak a glance at my siblings. They're all looking at me now, thinking I won't notice. I catch Gareth's eye and he immediately looks away, as do the rest of them. I smile, though I know they can't see it. They're up here because I've been acting strange today and they're worried about me.

It's nice, after all these years, to finally have a family that loves me.

* * *

**Author's Note: Apollo's a god and I think that if anyone challenged his authority and was really obnoxious about it he would get pissed off, hence the OOCness. **

**Reviews are appreciated.**


	3. My HalfBrother Does Military School

**MAIN TITLE: The Keeper of Fate**

**WARNINGS: See first chapter for warnings.**

**NOTES: Thanks to **KittyKat**, **Queen Alexandera's Birdwing** and **PurpleandBlackPandas **for reviewing this chapter!**

**In response to **KittyKat**'s review: Yes, Luke is on his quest. Hopefully next chapter will clear up any confusion about the timeline. **

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own PJO. Rick Riordan does. The song "Achilles' Last Stand" is by Led Zeppelin. Chapter title is taken from chapter 18 of ****_The Lightning Thief_**** 'Annabeth Does Obedience School'.**

* * *

**Chapter Three: My Half**-**Brother Does Military School**

The next day I sit at table nine at the dining pavilion with my half-siblings (after waking up at a _reasonable hour_ and _taking a shower_) and listen to them discuss the possibility of crafting a mobile cannon that can launch cannon balls at enemy forces over fifty yards away. I can tell they're having trouble with this; normal gunpowder can't tear through celestial bronze, which is the material that the cannon balls have to be made out of if we want them to have any effect on monsters whatsoever.

Jake is suggesting that we use Greek fire, but Gareth shoots down that idea instantly by pointing out how volatile the stuff is. The celestial bronze can contain it, but if even a speck of the green powder makes contact with the actual cannon itself, it's curtains for everyone in a twenty metre radius.

So yeah, not exactly the best option. They decide that they'll go over all of the blueprints later, the same ones Beckendorf and Gareth were looking at last night before I came in. For now they're just going to enjoy their breakfast while mocking me incessantly for inhaling my food so rapidly that they're surprised I'm not choking to death. It's not like it really matters if I do choke. Zeth knows the Heimlich maneuver. After all those nights going to bed hungry because my mother pressured me into throwing up my dinner (and sometimes my breakfast and lunch too), I've decided that I'm not going to let other people's image of me keep me from eating.

Yeah, my mother's a bitch. Lots of demigods have that problem. But we learn to deal. And as I listen to Jake tease me and watch Pollux and Castor (Mr. D's twins, the poor boys) being tricked into drinking a normal looking fluid (which probably has laxatives in it) by the Stoll brothers, I realize that life could be a lot worse.

* * *

It's generally very hot in the forges, what with the blast furnaces and everything, but today even more so than usual. That's probably because we're all so frustrated and tempers are running high. In fact, Gareth and I got into a fight just a few minutes ago about whether or not we should just call it quits for the day. He's still nursing his black eye.

Jake and the others are just as irritated. They've been at this for three hours, trying to find a solution to the problem I was telling you about earlier. Experiment after experiment, and nothing has worked. Littered all over the table and the floor are diagrams upon diagrams, some scrawled hastily on small scraps of paper and others meticulously drawn on huge sheets of unwrinkled insert-name-of-fancy-paper-here. The former are drawn by the boys themselves and the latter are drawn by various members of the Athena cabin. My half-siblings enlisted their help a week or so before I got to this camp, but so far not even Xavier–the head counsellor of the Athena cabin–has had a brain wave.

Jake has a natural instinct for forging (I swear, he doesn't even know the names of the pieces and techniques he uses to create his master pieces, he just sort of goes with his intuition) and Zeth has the mechanics of it memorized (he loves to take things apart and then spend hours putting them back together) but it's Beckendorf who has been putting out the most suggestions.

Beckendorf is good at metalworking too, of course, but he's absolutely brilliant at coming up with innovative ideas and finding inventive solutions to problems like this one. But even Beckendorf is having trouble with this.

Meanwhile, Gareth and I are pretty much useless, which is probably why we both lost our patience and got into that fistfight–which I won, just wanted to point that out–in the first place. All Gareth has done so far is bark orders at everyone and shout out reprimands every time one of the other boys (usually Jake) blows something up. At one point he even screeches at Zeth to "Drop down and give me twenty!" because apparently the reserved boy isn't participating enough.

In reality I should be the one doing push-ups, because I have sat quietly (for once) at the table my half-brothers are working at and not given any input whatsoever. I thought I got all of my self-pity out of my system yesterday, but apparently not. I've been brooding the whole time about how I can't craft weapons the way the rest of them can. Well, Gareth can't either, but he makes incredible shields and almost impenetrable armour so that makes up for it.

The only thing I'm good for is making the regular form of a weapon. For example, Chiron has this sword, Ripwave or something like that, that starts out as a ballpoint pen and turns into a wicked celestial bronze blade when the cap is removed. But you can't just make the weapon; you also have to make the pen. You create them separately, swear a sacred oath to the gods and then merge them together by using, well, it depends. Sometimes water from a river in the underworld is used; sometimes the two objects are thrown into a volcano; sometimes both. I've even heard of someone dipping a shield and a gauntlet into a pool of blood.

So I make the object that transforms into the weapon, and when my brothers aren't looking I forge jewellery. Yes, I did just say jewellery. Just because my father is hideous doesn't mean I don't appreciate beauty. I'm nowhere near as obsessive as the Aphrodite girls (and boys, for that matter) but I still shower and brush my hair and shave my legs and pluck my eyebrows on a regular basis just like most girls do. I don't wear make-up, though. Even just picking up a tube of lip gloss makes me feel like I'm surrendering to my mother, adopting her 'you-must-sell-your-soul-so-you-can-be-as-beautiful-as-humanly-possible' mentality.

If there's one thing I know, it's that I don't want to be anything like my mother.

Which is why I read Hamlet. It's the one Shakespearean play she hates, because that's where her parents got her name, Ophelia. She absolutely loathes that name. And I suppose that's the one area where she and I will always be the same. She got my name from the female lead in Othello, her favourite play, and because I hate both my name and my mother I also despise Shakespeare's Othello.

But anyways, I make necklaces and bracelets and stuff, which I then hide from everyone, especially my brothers who would probably die laughing if they found out. I'm hoping that if I ever get a chance to return to the real world for a while I can sell some of the jewellery like I did before I came to Camp Half-blood.

I'm getting so off topic, aren't I? To recap the important things: we want to build a cannon to annihilate monsters, we can't find a suitable replacement for gunpowder, and Gareth and I are totally useless and haven't been helping at all.

"Vires, maybe we should take a break," I tell him again, because we've all had enough disappointment for one day.

Beckendorf, Jake, and Zeth all tense, like they're expecting Gareth to snap and start another argument. I'm expecting this too, to be honest, and for a second it looks like our head counsellor really is going to explode.

Then his shoulders seem to slump in defeat and he admits, "Yeah, I know." Before I can reign in my surprise and banish it from my features, he continues, "I'm sorry I've been working you guys so hard, it's just that–I don't know, it's just that our cabin gets a lot of crap from everyone and I thought that maybe if we pulled this off the other campers would finally give us some respect for once."

"Gareth, you know we don't care about our image," Beckendorf says. The older boy raises an eyebrow and Beckendorf amends, "Well, we don't care _that much_."

"Yeah," Jake agrees, "The constant snide remarks about our appearance and the not-so-harmless jokes about our dad are annoying, and it would be nice to shove a spectacular cannon in peoples' faces to shut them up, but that doesn't mean you're allowed to go all evil dictator on us."

"He's just exaggerating," Zeth says hastily, at the same time elbowing Jake in the ribs.

"No, he's not," Gareth smiles wryly and continues, "I kind of was acting like an evil dictator. I just feel like I should be doing more for you guys. Especially you, Dess. I've heard some of things that Brookes girl says to you and–"

"Dude," I interject, "it's not your fault, how the others treat us. Cheryl and all the other people who make fun of us are just really shallow." He still looks doubtful, so I add, "If it really bothers you, you can deck the next Hermes guy that makes a comment about my bra size, okay?"

Despite his obvious discomfort at the word 'bra', Gareth grins and replies: "Will do. Now let's get out of here before we all melt from the heat, or worse, before we start pouring out our darkest secrets and innermost feelings to each other like we're at some girly sleepover."

The rests of the guys snicker appreciatively and laugh even harder when I punch Gareth in the arm with enough force to bruise him. They're still laughing as we exit the forges, and Gareth and I join in when we see two Demeter boys looking at us like we're completely psycho. Which isn't true. We're only partially crazy. And someday, maybe that rest of the campers will see that.

* * *

"_Wandering and wandering, what place to rest the search,_

_The mighty arms of Atlas hold the heavens from the earth._"

The Apollo kids sing this last bit at an extremely high volume, just to piss off Mr. D. For once, I don't really blame the wine god for being annoyed. Normally we sing demigod songs when we're in the Amphitheatre seated around the campfire, but today one of the sun god's children, Lee Fletcher, decided to switch things up a little. Somehow he managed to convince Chiron that instead of singing 'This Land is Minos's Land' like we usually do, we should sing his shortened version of 'Achilles Last Stand'. Fletcher's a huge Led Zeppelin nut. He went on and on about how the song was all about Achilles and his triumphs, and guess what? Achilles' name isn't even mentioned in it once.

The part about Atlas is really the only part that mentions Greek mythology, which sucks because to be perfectly honest, none of us really care about Atlas at all. If you've watched the Class of the Titans–and I'm not talking about the movie 'The Clash of the Titans', I'm talking about the cartoon TV show–than you might've seen the episode with Atlas in it. You might also remember that the show portrayed Atlas as a nice guy. Yeah, he's not. He's like a military general, and there's nothing he loves more than commanding other people to obliterate us demigods. So you don't have to pity him because he's stuck holding up the sky. Trust me, he deserves it.

So anyways, as soon the ending of the song fades, Connor launches into the story of his cabin's previous camp counsellor, who wound up in jail because she got caught stealing a–well, Stoll won't tell us what she took. Apparently that's 'classified information'. He ignores Clarisse's glare, which seems to be saying: '_fight me one time on the wrestling mat and we'll see how _classified_ your info is then_', refusing to rise to the bait–probably because he knows he'll get his butt handed to him if he fights her.

I don't pay much attention as his big/little brother–I can never tell which one of them is older–chimes in and explains that the prison the daughter of Hermes was sent to is haunted by restless ghosts from the underworld, which ironically makes it safer for half-bloods instead of more dangerous. Even monsters don't like to mess with the dead.

The rest of the story passes right over my head, because I'm too busy thinking about the note in my pocket. Apollo sent it to me earlier–and when I say he sent it, I mean that it just appeared in my hand when I woke up this morning. I'm not going to tell you exactly what it says, because it's long and boring and filled with the poetry god's horrific haikus, but basically this is the gist of it: _'Just so you know, that whole I-want-you-to-save-the-world-so-that-fabulous-people-like-me-don't-die thing? Yeah, I forgot to mention it earlier, but you don't have to worry about that for at least two more years. So stop freaking out and just relax. I'll let you know when the time comes."_

I love how he tells me this _after_ I have a (mild) mental breakdown. I'm pretty much okay with it now though, 'cause I thought most of it through when I was brooding while walking along the beach yesterday. Of course, that doesn't stop me from having dreams–and I don't mean the demigod kind, I mean the normal kind that people insist tell you about your secret troubles that are buried deep within your subconscious.

Though to be honest, my dreams are more like nightmares. It really sucks, dreaming about the people you love dying and then coming back as ghosts just to tell you that it's your fault they died. Oh well. I'll take Apollo's advice for whatever it's worth and stop panicking. I can enjoy two years of peace, right? There's nothing wrong with that.

So I push away my guilty conscience and instead listen as Grover and the other Satyrs play music on their reed pipes, though they stop every few songs to snack on tin cans. I watch as the campfire grows bigger and bigger, the flames brighter and brighter, and I decide that sitting back and enjoying the peace while it lasts is the best idea I've ever had.

* * *

**Author's Note: There's way too much stuff about the Hephaestus kids, I know, but Dess lives with them and for the time being interacts with them more than she does anyone else. Eventually they mostly just fade into the background.**

**Anyways, hope you like it. Reviews are appreciated. **


	4. Cheryl Joins the Fangirl Parade

**MAIN TITLE: The Keeper of Fate**

**WARNINGS: See first chapter for warnings.**

**NOTES: Thanks to **KittyKat** and **Queen Alexandera's Birdwing** for reviewing this chapter!**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own the PJO series. Rick Riordan does.**

* * *

**Chapter Four: Cheryl Joins the Fangirl Parade**

A couple of days later, Annabeth and I are sitting under a shaded tree, somewhere between the volleyball courts and the arts and crafts building. We're here everyday after lunch, sometimes just for lessons and sometimes to talk. She'll listen with seemingly endless patience to me complain about trivial things when she knows I have so much more on my mind. She'll never pressure me into stating what's bothering me.

And in the absence of her usual confidant, she's started coming to me with her problems. Sometimes she'll talk about her dream to be an architect and how she hates her family, though I know that last part isn't really true. She misses her dad; she's just got too much pride to admit it.

Sometimes she'll try to talk to Grover about these things, because she's closer to him then she is to me, but, well, Grover's ability to read other people's emotions does not necessarily make him good at helping other people deal with them.

The only time Annabeth is ever truly honest about what she's thinking and feeling is when she's talking to Thalia's tree. She'll sit by it for hours, pouring her heart out as if she hopes the girl inside can somehow hear her. But whether Thalia is in there listening or not, she can't respond or comfort Annabeth at all.

So Annabeth comes to me, and I'm absolutely useless at cheering her up when she's down. Now that I think about it, maybe it's better if she goes to Grover. We're both just as unhelpful.

Right now, though, none of that matters because it's lesson day. She's trying to make me read some sort of document written in Ancient Greek. The words are giving me a headache, because I really just don't like to read even if the language happens to be programmed into my brain. Today is even worse then normal, and I grow increasingly annoying as Annabeth lectures me.

"And for the fifth-hundredth time, Dess, this word does _not_ mean–"

I frown at the blond and interrupt her, unconvinced. "It totally does. It just has to. The Greeks have already got all those messed up letters. The least they could do is make dunamis–that's the Modern Greek word for δύναμις, right?–mean dynamite."

Annabeth glares at me. Through gritted teeth, she explains: "The English word 'dynamite' is derived from dunamis, yes, but it is _not_ the definition for it." She notices the doubt that is still on my face and, now completely exasperated, snaps, "It doesn't matter what you want it to mean. 'Dunamis' means power. That's just the way it is. There's nothing you can do to change it."

"Unless I went back in time. That would be really cool. Except I'd probably somehow get my hands on actual dynamite and accidentally blow up the planet. Which would still be pretty cool. I mean, would the world just disintegrate, or would the force of the explosion break it into pieces and send them hurtling through space? What if someone somehow managed to survive and they got blasted to another galaxy with alien life forms? Would the aliens really have superior intelligence like everyone thinks they do, or would they be like humans? Of course, they'd probably have a different language and maybe they _would_ have UFOs and everything, but I don't buy that whole bit about the green skin. I mean really, green? They'd look like broccoli and–"

I say this all extremely quickly, one sentence running into the next like a chain of dominoes that's been knocked over. I barely even pause to breathe through most of it, but I stop short as I realize that Annabeth is staring at me like I'm a mad woman. Which I'm not. Really. I just forgot to take my ADHD pills this morning (that's my normal excuse for my craziness problem), that's all. Maybe I should tell Annabeth that, because as of right now she looks like she's not sure whether or not she should get me professional help or simply stab me in the gut with her celestial bronze knife to shut me up. Personally I prefer the former, 'cause the second option sounds kind of painful, but that's just me.

"You've lost it," she decides. "You definitely watched too much sci-fi in the mortal world."

Her faces twists at the last two words, and I realize how stupid all my pointless chattering is. I should know better than to provoke her. Like I said before, she's got a lot of patience–especially for a ten year old–, but she doesn't tolerate random displays of sheer idiocy. Not to mention that with Luke gone, she's reaching the end of her rope.

I haven't actually met Luke yet because he's still on some quest thing, but I know all about him courtesy of Cheryl. And speaking of girls with unnatural blood-red hair that somehow still looks natural, here she comes now.

"Well look who it is. Little miss genius and _the thing_," she sneers.

"_The thing_? Really, that's the best you can come up with? And you're overdoing the antagonism, Brookes, you sound like you're a character in an over-theatrical teen drama–you're the snobby girl that saunters around like she owns the place and spends her time developing schemes for total school conquest."

Okay, so it's not the best counter-attack that I've ever come up with, but the last name thing is a nice touch. Her face reddens with anger and embarrassment the second she hears it. She hates it when I call her by her last name, because she can't return the favour. My surname is a really awkward to pronounce in casual conversation–or in an epic battle of wits between good (obviously me) and pure evil (clearly Cheryl). Normally I respect her discomfort at being on uneven footing with me and I make things equal by using her first name, but since she put in that jab at Annabeth, I'm not going to take pity on her this time.

Finally her angry flush fades and she responds after pondering my words. "Maybe just a little," she acquiesces and, her lips twitching upwards ever so slightly, she adds, "but it's my opening line, it _has_ to sound over-theatrical."

Annabeth looks back and forth between us and says, "You guys are _both_ overdramatic _all the time_. Honestly, I don't understand why you two can't just lose the rivalry and be friends."

As I half choke on the blond girl's betrayal, Brookes snaps, "Can it, Chase, I didn't ask for your opinion."

After hyperventilating for several moments I at last regain the ability to articulate words that are actually intelligible. "Annabeth, _how could you_? I thought we were friends!"

"We are."

"But you compared me to _her_!"

Annabeth rolls her eyes, "Oh, well then I'm _so_ sorry. I'll try to be more mindful of what I say the next time I try to get you guys to act your age."

Cheryl and I open are mouths to protest that we are so mature; we're sixteen after all, when Malcolm, son of Athena, comes running up to us (and by us I mean Annabeth) and exclaims, "He's back!"

"Who's back?" Annabeth asks her half-brother, but her stormy-grey eyes are shining with hope.

"Not Luke!" Cheryl panics. "He can't be back already! What if he sees me in this outfit? I'll die from humiliation!"

I perk up at her declaration. "Really? You'll die? Like, lose-ability-to-breathe-soul-is-sent-to-Hades kind of dying?" I try to sound like I'm just asking for clarification and not daydreaming about making her hypothetical scenario a reality, but I guess I look a little too excited, because she glares at me.

Annabeth ignores us. "Well," she demands, "is it him?"

Malcolm nods his honey-blond head, and his half-sister lets out a sound that is the closest thing to a squeal that has ever passed her lips. She jumps up and takes off without even saying goodbye.

"Wait!" Malcolm calls out. "You're going in the wrong direction! He's not in the Hermes cabin; Chiron's still speaking to him in the Big House!"

He races after her without so much as a glance in our direction.

"That was really insulting."

"For once, Cheryl, I agree."

"It is Luke, though," she says this as if it somehow validates their behaviour. "If I wasn't in these hideous camp clothes, I'd probably be all over him right now."

"Please, spare me your rant on his luscious sandy-blond hair and his glorious blue eyes and his perfectly-sculpted abs. I don't care. He's a seventeen year old boy; he's not a god."

She stares at me like I've just announced that Mr. D asked all the campers to call him 'Daddy'. I speak before she can go off on a tirade about how hot Luke is. "What are you doing here, anyways? Shouldn't you be fawning over yourself in the mirror? Love the makeup, by the way. Do you use a brush or just dip your face in?"

"Oh, you're so clever! Did you think that up all on your own or did your mommy help you?"

I ignore the bit about my mother and, after taking another look at her face which is caked in foundation and blush and gods only knows what else, shoot back: "Halloween isn't for another four months; you can lose the clown mask."

"At least I know how to _put on_ makeup; you don't even know what eyeliner is."

"Oh, _is_ that eyeliner? I thought a sharpie attacked your face."

"You'd do better in life if your mind worked half as fast as your mouth."

"At least I _have_ a mind; how long has your brain been on vacation? Ten, fifteen years?"

Because she knows that she will never win the argument if she bases all her insults on intelligence, she switches gears and recites, "Roses are red, violets are blue. The gods made me pretty, what the Styx happened to you?"

I don't bother to respond to that one. I know I'm not as good-looking as her, but I'm certainly not ugly. "You know, Cheryl, I really do try to see things from your point of view; I just can't get my head that far up my–"

Brookes, who obviously knows what the last word is, interrupts, "Anyways, you asked me earlier why I was here. I figure I should hang around you so that Luke will think I look even more fabulous in comparison."

She's switching back to the beauty thing _again_? Honestly, she has no concept of originality. But apparently she has another plan in mind. "Not that Luke doesn't already think I look fabulous. It's just that _he's_ so amazing, I don't think even _I'm_ good enough for him. Anyone else would have been too scared to go to the Garden of Hesperides and steal a golden apple even if they had two companions with them, but Luke went alone. And he was gone for more than a month. I bet the trip was traumatizing. He'll probably need me to comfort him; he must've run into so many monsters. But I just know he fought bravely, and I know he looked damn hot while doing it–"

I cut her off because I'm starting to feel nauseous. "That's nice. Excuse me while I go throw up."

Of course, I'm not actually going to throw up, just like Cheryl isn't actually that obsessed with Luke. Whenever we're arguing and she runs out of insults, she'll start going on and on about Luke, because she knows that it disgusts me and that I'll forfeit the verbal war without hesitation. Granted, I think she really _does_ think Luke's good-looking and brave, but she's not the type to be so totally immersed in one boy. Either way, her words still sicken me, even if she doesn't mean them. Because a few of the other girls same similar things, and those girls _do _mean them.

Maybe that's why the Hermes campers–with the exception of Travis and Connor Stoll–gave me such a hard time while I was there. They must get sick of all those female campers being so infatuated with Luke. They probably wanted to wait 'til Luke got back so they could see if I was going to fawn over him like those other girls.

That kind of pisses me off. It was hard enough trying to adjust to camp life without my roommates giving me the cold shoulder. Whatever. Maybe they'll cut me some slack when they realize that I'm _not_ like those other girls. And even if they don't change their minds about me, I don't really need them; I've got my brothers and Annabeth and Clarisse, when she's not feeling murderous about one thing or another.

I turn on my heel and walk away from Cheryl, who has been staring at me for the full two minutes I've been thinking about all this, probably wondering why I'm still here. Doesn't matter. Because a few seconds later I'm gone, just like she wanted.

* * *

**Author's Note: I got most of those insults off the internet. I'm not very good at coming up with my own, probably because I very rarely insult people.**

**Luke will make his appearance in the next chapter.**

**Anyways, hope you liked it. Reviews are appreciated.**


	5. Clarisse is Guilty of Attempted Murder

**MAIN TITLE: The Keeper of Fate**

**WARNINGS: See first chapter for warnings.**

**NOTES: Thanks to **Ceville**, **KittyKat**, **Queen Alexandera's Birdwing **and **fearless0601** for reviewing this chapter!**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own the PJO series. Rick Riordan does.**

* * *

**Chapter Five: Clarisse is Guilty of Attempted Murder **

For the rest of July, all I hear about is Luke's failed quest. Blah, blah, blah, he didn't get the apple back to Olympus; blah, blah, blah, he has a scar on his face now. A couple of people are laughing at him behind his back, but the rest of the campers are just impressed that he made it back alive. Of course, some of the girls don't really care that he didn't succeed; they're too busy droning on and on about how his new scar makes him look dangerous and mysterious and even hotter.

I wouldn't know; I haven't even seen him yet. No, seriously, I haven't even caught a glimpse of him, which is ridiculous because he's been back for three weeks.

The first week he spends alone, brooding about his failure–or at least I think that's what he's doing. The second week he apparently gets over it and spends his days catching up with Annabeth, who I haven't really talked to since Luke returned. That's okay, though. Now she can talk to him about whatever it is that's upsetting her at any particular moment, and I can stop feeling guilty for being a bad friend who can't make her feel better. For the entire third week, Luke is surrounded by admirers who are constantly praising him for being courageous enough to travel across the country and face a dragon.

It's halfway through the fourth week when I meet him for the first time. And years later, I'll look back and wish I hadn't.

* * *

"Let me go! I'm going to skewer the punk!" Clarisse is absolutely seething with rage. Gareth and I are trying to hold her back, but she's struggling viciously against us, all the while shouting out death threats and glaring murderously at Sherman, her half-brother.

You see, this is why you _never _mess with Clarisse's little sister. Yes, I did just say Clarisse's little sister. Her name is Isabel–not the kind of name you expect the daughter of a war god to have–and she's eight years old. Just one year older than Annabeth was when she came to camp.

Now from what I've heard, people treated Annabeth like she was a little princess. Everyone adored her; they thought she was just the cutest thing, with her pretty curls and her wide eyes and all those intelligent words that sounded so funny coming from a seven year old kid. Not to mention her life was so tragic. Her parents hated her. She ran away and found a new family, only to have one of the members of that new family ripped away from her.

Isabel has had a tragic life too, from what Clarisse has told me. Her mother was a–well, basically she sold her body to make a living. And poor little Isabel has seen things that a child shouldn't see. But most of the campers don't feel sorry for her like they do for Annabeth. Annabeth just seems so innocent to them, despite everything she's been through. But the demigods look at Isabel and they don't see that innocence in her. They see her as tainted, unclean.

I'm not exactly best friends with Isabel–I actually don't spend a lot of time with her–, but it does piss me off when people make fun of her. The two of us, along with Clarisse, are actually very alike in some ways. We were all outcasts at camp at one point or another. Clarisse was the only girl in her cabin before Isabel came along, while Isabel is very different from her siblings in terms of her appearance (her features are kinder, almost gentle, and her muscles are weak-looking) and her personality (she's very soft-spoken and she hates violence). I have both of those problems, but unlike Isabel and Clarisse, my siblings accepted those differences and welcomed me with open arms.

Clarisse was treated like dirt until she proved herself. Now her siblings make fun of her behind her back, but at least they don't try to beat her up. The problem is that Isabel isn't tough like Clarisse is. The Ares kids don't actually punch her or anything, but they do shove her around a lot. It makes me sick, so I defend her whenever I can.

That's why Clarisse and I get along. Well, that and the whole 'we're both outcasts' thing. Not to mention the fact that people think that children of both the fire god and the war god rely on brute force all the time and therefore have no brains. Which is a load of bull. You heard me going on about Zeth earlier, the kid's a nerd; of course he's got a brain. And Elliot, son of Ares, is a total computer geek; I've seen him in action. It's not their fault that they're built like tanks and are able to knock people out with a single punch to the face.

Anyways, Clarisse is super protective of Isabel, and she certainly _does not_ tolerate people pushing her little sister around during combat practice, which is what Sherman was doing just a few seconds ago. I can't believe he had the nerve to do it right in front of Clarisse; he really should know better. The second the flat of his sword made contact with Isabel's chest, Clarisse's fist made contact with his face. Then she lunged for the nearest pointy object, and that's when Gareth and I stepped in.

We're the only things stopping her from running the son of Ares through with her electric spear. Not that he doesn't deserve it, but… Well, Chiron could spontaneously appear at any moment, and Clarisse will get in trouble if the old horse man catches her stabbing one of his students. And besides that, Isabel looks like she's about to cry. Like I said, she hates violence. _I_ hate seeing her cry; it makes me feel so guilty, even if it's not my fault.

"La Rue, seriously, you have to calm down." Gareth's voice is steady as he tries to pacify Clarisse.

"I don't _have_ to do anything!"

"S-stop it…" I can barely hear Isabel's voice over Clarisse yelling at Gareth. Yeah, the kid's definitely going to be upset if the shouting doesn't end.

"Clarisse, you're going to regret it if you–" I try to reason with the brunette.

"Don't _even_! The only thing I'd regret is _not_ taking this spear and impaling–" Do you really need me to tell you who said that?

"P-please stop it…" The little girl's whisper does not reach her older sister.

Then Sherman speaks, evidently making an effort to ignore his bleeding nose: "I don't know why you're so mad, _sis_, it's not like the little brat didn't deserve it."

That's too much. My grip on Clarisse's arm lessens. Doing my best to make the fury in my voice clear, I exclaim, "All she did was ask for a different sword! That's not a crime!"

"A weapon is a weapon. You can't be choosy about what you fight with; you have to take whatever you can get. She should just learn to deal with using a sword she doesn't like."

The absolute unfairness of that statement angers even Gareth. "Maybe that's true, but this is just practice. For Hephaestus' sake, she couldn't even lift it up! That sword weighs like a hundred pounds! It was way too heavy for her; of course she asked for another one."

"A _real_ child of Ares would be able to–"

At this, Clarisse breaks free, and Gareth and I don't even try to stop her. My ears are ringing. All I can see is the blood dripping onto Sherman's already blazing red shirt, which is probably why I don't notice Isabel burst into tears.

"Please, _please_ stop," Isabel begs, but nobody is listening.

Sherman is raising his sword, ready to block Clarisse's blow the second she strikes. And she's _definitely_ about to strike.

"That's enough."

We're all so surprised that we instantly forget what we're doing and turn to face the approaching figure. The two words that were spoken are enough to tell me that the person is probably male, but I won't know for sure until he passes through the doorway.

Clarisse looks disgruntled while Sherman is relieved. Gareth tilts his head to the side like he's trying to place the voice, as though he hasn't heard it in awhile. I can't see Isabel's face because she's looking away, so I don't know what her reaction is, but I do notice that her shoulders seem to relax.

At last, the unknown person steps out of the shadows. I know immediately who he is–not because I recognize him, but instead because I don't. There is absolutely no doubt in my mind that the boy standing in front of us is Luke I-don't-know-his-last-name.

I'm surprised to find that Cheryl's many descriptions of his appearance are actually sort of accurate, as long I ignore all of her exaggerations. His hair _is_ a sandy blond, his eyes_ are_ a bright shade of forget-me-not blue, and his new scar _does_ make him look dangerous and mysterious and, well, hot.

I'm not, however, surprised to find that I'm partially unaffected by the fact that he's extremely attractive. I didn't gawk at Apollo, and I'm certainly not going to gawk at this half-mortal teenage boy who, while handsome, is not anywhere near as gorgeous as the previously mentioned sun god.

Instead I turn my attention back to the matter at hand, seeing as everyone else has done the same. Clarisse has recovered from her shock and is once again raising her spear. Sherman is trying to inch his way over to the door unnoticed, and is obviously unsuccessful seeing as I just noticed him. Gareth has regained control of his temper and is ready to restrain Clarisse should restraint be necessary.

Meanwhile, Isabel has turned to her sister again. One glance at the tear tracks on the little girl's face makes me feel like someone has punched me in the gut. How did I not notice the fact that she was crying? Then again, Clarisse didn't notice either, so I don't feel _too_ashamed of myself. I still feel guilty, though. I know I didn't start this, but I can't help but think I should have finished it sooner.

"Isabel, it's okay, really…" Yes, I am aware that my attempt to cheer Isabel up is pathetic, but I just don't know what else to say.

Clarisse doesn't hear me, doesn't notice how upset her sister is. But Luke does.

"Clarisse, put down the spear and tell me what's going on." He places himself in between the enraged daughter of Ares and her alarmed half-brother.

"Get out of the way, Castellan! Or I'll skewer you, too!"

"I don't doubt it. But maybe you should take a look at your sister before you do."

And at last, she does. She looks at Isabel, at her tear-stained face, and finally comes to her senses.

"Oh. Hey, kid, I'm sorry. Don't worry, everything's fine. So you don't–you don't have to, uh…" Clarisse stumbles over her words, not used to comforting anyone. But her voice and her expression are gentler than they've ever been, and it shows.

Isabel sniffs and wipes the remaining drops of water off of her face. "Really? You mean it?"

"Yeah," Clarisse says gruffly. "'Course I mean it. Let's–let's go back to the cabin and pretend this never happened, okay?"

"'Kay," is all Isabel says. She takes her sisters hand and allows herself to be pulled out of the arena. As she passes by me, she gives me a small smile, and to my surprise, so does Clarisse. The brunette nods curtly at Gareth and Luke but sneers at Sherman. Together, the sisters disappear through the darkened doorway.

Sherman tries to sneak away, but Luke turns on him and draws his sword. "Now," he says, "would you mind telling me what you did that made Clarisse get so angry at you?"

"I didn't do anything, I just–" Oh, I am _so_ not going to let him get away with this.

"You just knocked a little girl to the ground for absolutely no reason, and then said that she wasn't tough enough to be a real daughter of Ares. Yeah, that's definitely nothing." I glare at him.

"I didn't say that!"

"It was implied. And I notice that you didn't deny pushing her around," Gareth counters.

Luke raises an eyebrow at Sherman. "Well," he asks. "Did you do those things?"

"Well–I–yes, okay? And I'd do it again if I could. She could use a few shoves; if she doesn't learn how things are done in the Ares cabin now, then she never will. She might even end up like her mother, the sl–"

He's lucky Clarisse isn't here, though he probably wouldn't have said that if she was. Well, since she's not here to pulverize him, I'll do it for her. I launch myself at Sherman, my hand already raised so that when I reach him I can smack him right away.

Gareth steps forward, about to interfere, but he doesn't need to. Luke catches my arm as I pass and pulls me back against his chest. I'm about to protest, to yell at him to let go of me, but it occurs to me that we're right back where we started: Sherman cowering against the wall, somehow still trying to look tough, while someone else is ready to kill him but is being held back.

I stop struggling, and Luke loosens his hold on me. I rip my arm out of his grip and stiffly move away from him.

The attractive blond boy turns to Sherman. "Do us all a favour and get out. Stay away from Isabel. If I catch you treating her badly again, you'll be on kitchen patrol 'til Christmas."

"You can't do that! You're the head counsellor for Hermes, not Ares."

"Elliot owes me. I'm sure he'd be more than willing to help me out."

"Just because you went on that stupid quest, doesn't mean you boss everyone around–"

Luke raises his sword and points it at the other boy. Sherman immediately falls silent. Then he turns and stalks out of the arena.

Gareth lets out a relieved breath. "Thank the gods that's over."

Then he addresses Luke: "Thanks for stepping in. Things were really getting out of hand."

"No prob. Sherman needs someone threatening his life every once in awhile, and Clarisse needs to be reminded that there are more important things than getting revenge."

"Definitely," Gareth agrees whole-heartedly, and I realize that like almost everyone else, he respects Luke. "I'm gonna take a stroll down to the forges," he says, as he starts to walk away. He doesn't even ask if I want to join him. He just grins at the younger boy, tousles my hair, and leaves.

I don't bother to fix my disheveled locks, which for some reason makes Luke quirk an eyebrow at me.

"What? Why are you staring at me like that?" I demand.

"Nothing. It's just that I thought you'd be obsessed with your looks, considering who your mother is."

I freeze. How does he know _anything_ about my mother? Then the anger comes. "Say that again!"

"Whoa, sorry, didn't mean to offend you or anything. I'm just used to children of Aphrodite–especially the daughters–going on and on about their hair and everything else…"

I stare at him blankly, the anger draining right out of me as confusion sets in. "What does the goddess of love have to do with anything?"

Luke looks taken aback. "Aren't you Silena Beauregard? Daughter of Aphrodite, arrived here last week?"

Part of me is flattered that he thinks I'm pretty enough to be a child of the most beautiful Olympian. The rest of me is pissed off because he basically just accused me of being Cheryl's half-sister.

"Um, no. Never in a million years."

Luke frowns. "But I don't recognize you. I know everyone who was already at camp before I went on my quest; you must have come here recently. And from what I've heard, the only two new girls are the daughter of Aphrodite and the daughter of Hephaestus. If you're not Silena, who else could you be?"

I raise an eyebrow at him and his jaw drops. I watch as he looks me over carefully, trying to find similarities between me and the other children of the fire god.

He scrutinizes my hair, which falls all the way to my waist. To be honest, though, my long locks aren't really going to tell him much. Other than the length, they're not too different than my brothers'. My hair is straight, just like theirs, though maybe just a bit lighter. It's hard to tell; sometimes my hair is the same shade as ebony, while at other times it just looks like a very deep brown.

My skin tone isn't a very good indicator of whether or not I'm a daughter of Hephaestus, either. I'm not pale, but I'm not tan either. I guess my skin is sort of like a peach colour or something. That doesn't really mean anything, though. Zeth is bone-white from spending too much time indoors, Beckendorf has very dark skin because his mom is from South Africa (not that everyone in South Africa has dark skin; I'm just saying that the people there probably get a lot of sun, okay?) and Gareth and Jake are somewhere in between.

So yeah, my skin and hair don't really help at all. Luke doesn't spend a lot of time studying either. Instead, his eyes linger for a little while on my small mouth–pink lips that are shaped like Cupid's bow–, long enough that I start to feel uncomfortable. He seems to notice this and he quickly looks away. I pretend that I don't see his cheeks flush slightly.

As for eye colour, well, most of my siblings have really dark eyes–usually brown, though Jake's are a kind of combination of midnight blue and steel grey. _My_ eyes, on the other hand, are–I don't know, hazel, maybe? They're a mixture of light green and light brown with hints of a very light gold. Basically I'm saying that my eyes are really light. So they're not like my brother's. But then again, eyes aren't exactly the most important factor.

Body shape is a better way to determine my ancestry. I watch as Luke's disbelieving eyes take in my small frame and my muscles, which are extremely subtle compared to my brothers. Then his eyes fall on my hands, which are not calloused like my siblings are.

"Yeah, not what you were expecting, huh?"

He shakes his head slowly. "You got that right," he agrees. Then he gives me an apologetic glance.

"Sorry, I just assumed–but you know what they say about people who assume."

"Yeah, I do. And don't worry, I forgive you. Your brothers, Connor and Travis, nearly fell over when I was claimed." In fact, most of the people in the small crowd that had gathered did a double take when they saw the flaming hammer appear above my head.

Luke cracks a smile. "That sounds like them. So, are you gonna tell me your name or should I just call you I'm-not-Silena-Beauregard-even-though-I'm-pretty-enough-to-be-a-daughter-of-Aphrodite?"

I shift my weight from my right leg to my left. His compliment leaves me a little uneasy, mostly because I'm not used to boys complimenting my looks.

"My name is Dess," I tell him.

"Last name?" he prods.

I make a face, but tell him reluctantly because I know he'll somehow find out anyways. "Gemmae."

"Unusual," he notes. "Does it mean anything in particular?"

"It's the plural form for the Latin word 'Gemma'. It means jewels or jewelry."

"Latin, huh? Not Greek?"

"You can't choose you're last name."

"I know that. But your parents can choose your first name. As far as I know, the name 'Dess' has no connection to Ancient Greece. In fact," Luke adds, "I don't think I've ever met anyone whose name is actually Dess. It's just a nickname, isn't it?"

I don't respond, and he extracts the answer from my silence. "Yeah, it's not your full name," he decides. "Dess…sounds like it's short for Desdemona. Comes from the name 'Disdemona', which means unfortunate in Greek."

Well isn't that just lovely. Now a little annoyed, I question, "What are you, the authority on Greek nomenclature?"

"I have a lot of free time on my hands. If I remember right, Desdemona is a character from Othello. She's the girl who was married to Othello, only he was paranoid that she was cheating on him and he killed her. Now that's what I call unfortunate. She certainly lives up to her name."

I turn pale. "They don't make you read Shakespeare here, do they?"

He laughs. "No, no, of course not. It's just a random fact that Annabeth shoved into my head." He smiles fondly as he says her name.

"Oh. Right." My relief at being reassured that I will most likely never be required to read Shakespeare again leaves me almost speechless.

"So." That's all he says.

"So." This is getting really awkward now.

"You, uh, want to head on over to the mess hall?" he offers. "I think it's almost dinnertime."

"It had better be dinnertime. I'm starving." And the way he stares at me makes me a little uncomfortable, but of course I'm not going to say that.

At least I think I'm uncomfortable. The way he's looking at me makes my heart beat a little too fast, and there's an unfamiliar heat rushing to my face. That means I'm uncomfortable, right?

"Well, let's get going, then."

Together, we exit the arena and make our way to the dining pavilion, the late afternoon sun shining down on us.

* * *

**Author's Note: At this point, what Dess feels for Luke is purely a physical attraction. She's not in love with him. She just met him. She's experiencing the beginnings of infatuation. Same goes for Luke. Dess is a new face, she's close to his age and she doesn't drool/obsess over him. So naturally he finds her pretty appealing. **

**Also, Luke doesn't actually think she's pretty enough to be a daughter of Aphrodite; it's more that she's not 'ugly' enough to match up with his idea of what a daughter of Hephaestus should look like. Plus he's trying to flirt with her.**

**Reviews are appreciated. **


	6. Hellhounds Crash My Epic Fail of a Party

**MAIN TITLE: The Keeper of Fate**

**WARNINGS: See first chapter for warnings.**

**NOTES: Thanks to** starwarschic11** and** lydia62 **for reviewing this chapter! **

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own the PJO series. Rick Riordan does.**

* * *

**Chapter 6: Hellhounds Crash My Epic Fail of a Party**

I hate waiting. Probably you already knew that, but I'm going to repeat it anyways, just to annoy you. What am I waiting for? Well, actually, I'm just counting down the seconds 'til a giant eagle rips out my liver.

You don't know what's going on, do you? Well, that's not exactly surprising. I mean, it's been a while since you last saw me. Approximately three years. Sorry about that, I'm just not a keep-in-touch kind of girl.

Now, I've only got a few seconds before I die, so I really don't have time to tell you everything that's happened since the day I met Luke for the first time. I can, however, back up to earlier today. Ah, the good old days. Back when the only thing I was waiting for was my brother to get out of the shower so I could brush my teeth.

'Kay, sorry, guess I should stop reminiscing and tell you how I went from waiting to polish my molars to waiting to have one of my organs violently torn out of my body, all in just a few short hours…

* * *

"ZETH! Hurry up and get out of the bathroom! I need to brush my teeth!" I yell the words as loudly as possible, at the same time pounding on the door with my knuckles. In my left hand I grip a bright purple toothbrush; in my right I hold a tube of Colgate Total toothpaste.

Honestly, Zeth takes more time in the shower than the rest of us combined. Well, that might be an exaggeration, but still. I go in, turn on the water, shampoo/condition my hair, rinse out said shampoo/conditioner, shave my legs and armpits, wash the rest of my body with soap and water, turn off the water, exit the shower, and dry myself off, all in ten to fifteen minutes. Zeth takes thirty. I know he's tall and he has more surface area to clean, but even when my hair was like twenty-five inches long (I cut it two years ago and I haven't let it grow that long since), I still took less time than him.

I wait a full two minutes for a response. The only thing I get is the sound of the water shutting off. I decide that I've given Zeth ample time to cover himself. I push open the door, which doesn't lock because Jake broke the lock a week ago and Beckendorf has been too busy 'being-taught-the-ways-of-the-almighty-head-counsellors-by-the-magnificent-Gareth' (Gareth's words, not mine) to fix it.

The door swings open and my eyes immediately fall on my half-brother, Zeth. My reaction is instantaneous.

"EWW!" I howl, at same time slapping my hand over my already closed eyes.

"Dess–" Zeth tries to interrupt me.

"EWWWWWW! Naked brother! NAKED BROTHER!" My horrified voice shouts the words at an extremely high volume.

"Dess–" Zeth tries again.

"OH GODS, MY EYES, THEY BURN!"

"Dess–" His third attempt. I can tell he's irritated by this point.

"MY EYES! My mind has been tainted! I'll never be the same again!" I contemplate pulling an Oedipus and blinding myself, but if I remember right the 'process' is extremely painful. Maybe I'll just wear a blindfold for the rest of my life. Or until I get over my disgust at having seen my half-brother without any clothes on.

"Dess. Listen. To. Me. I am NOT NAKED. I _have my robe on_."

I really, _really _want to believe that, but my mind keeps flashing back to that glimpse I caught of his turquoise skin–wait a second. Zeth doesn't have turquoise skin. I uncover my eyes, which snap open. To my intense relief, Zeth is indeed clothed in a turquoise bath robe.

"Oh. Right. I knew that," I say sheepishly.

Zeth rolls his eyes and walks past me, muttering "Sisters, honestly…", like I'm the most exasperating person he's ever met.

The worst part? I can't really argue with that statement.

Anyways, I brush my teeth and get ready for breakfast and all that jazz. Then I join my brothers at table nine and ignore their knowing grins. Obviously, Zeth told them what happened. They can barely eat through their constant snickering. They stop laughing, however, when Tantalus stands up to address the crowd.

If you don't know who Tantalus is, then believe me, you're lucky. He wears an ancient looking prison uniform, is extremely filthy and pale, and likes to eat children. And no, I'm not making up that last part, he really is a cannibal. Or at least he used to be. He's not one anymore–not because he had a change of heart, but instead because he died and his eternal punishment was to never again eat or drink. Which really sucked for him, because until recently, he spent his days drifting across a lake with a fruit tree constantly hanging over him.

Now, though, he spends his days chasing cheeseburgers around and telling anyone who will listen that Percy Jackson and his two sidekicks will be dead any day now. Who is Percy Jackson, you ask? My gods, you're behind the times. Jackson is the guy who prevented a war between his father, Poseidon, and his uncle, Zeus, last summer when he was only twelve years old. Why were Zeus and Poseidon about to go to war? That's not important.

Anyways, he saved civilization, blah, blah, blah, but recently Thalia's tree was poisoned and he, Annabeth, and his Cyclops half-brother Tyson snuck out to find a cure (and to rescue Grover, who got himself kidnapped by Polyphemus, the Cyclops who was blinded by Odysseus). See, if Thalia's tree is sick, than it can't protect camp. If it can't protect camp, than monsters can come and kill us.

Tantalus sent Clarisse to retrieve the Golden Fleece, which will definitely be able to heal the tree. Now, I have faith in Clarisse and everything, but I really don't think she can pull this off on her own. She's too impulsive, and I can see how her blood lust might lead her astray. I can see her charging into battle without thinking things through, just because she wants to conquer, to destroy.

So yeah, she's not exactly the best choice. Which is why I'm glad Percy and his 'sidekicks' snuck out. Honestly, a better title for Annabeth would be 'Percy's brain'. The kid's not exactly known for his intelligence. As for Tyson, well, Tyson is really strong, immune to fire, and capable of building deadly weapons and fixing things. So he'll definitely be useful.

What I really hate? While Jackson, Tyson, Annabeth, Clarisse and Underwood are all off doing their own thing, the rest of us are stuck here, with Tantalus. I mean sure, they're probably all in some sort of life threatening situation right now, but we have to participate in the cannibal's games, which include: first-one-to-make-me-a-latte-that-I-won't-be-able-to-drink-gets-a-day-off-from-KP, whoever-can-entertain-me-by-maiming-the-largest-amount-of-campers-wins-a-useless-first-place-blue-ribbon, and my personal favourite, let's-all-throw-darts-at-Jackson's-picture-and-imagine-how-miserable-he-is-right-now-while-Dionysus-orders-the-satyrs-to-play-Celebration-by-Kool-and-the-Gang-on-their-reed-pipes.

Everyone hates Tantalus, even Mr. D who, like me, is starting to appreciate how good life was when Chiron was the activities director. I can't believe I'm actually saying this, but I miss the old horse man, I really do. If Chiron was here right now, he'd be announcing that "Capture the Flag will take place today, young heroes, so prepare yourselves!"

Now Tantalus stands up in the middle of the mess hall, and all he says is, "Who's ready for a fun game of capture-the-barbecued-chicken-and-bring-it-to-me?"

There's a round of unenthusiastic applause and a few half-hearted cheers that are so pathetic that they can barely even be classified as half-hearted.

"Excellent," Tantalus beams at all of us, as if nothing makes him happier than seeing how unhappy _we_ are. "Now off you go, that chicken isn't going to find itself!"

Obediently, we all file into the woods. As soon as we're out of Tantalus' sight (he usually doesn't bother making sure we're actually doing what he says, he just assumes that we'll follow his orders without question) a third of the Ares campers run off to find monsters to kill, half of the Hermes cabin leave so they can raid the camp store (which they run so it's really like they're stealing from themselves), the majority of the Aphrodite kids head over to Zephyros Creek so they can stare at their own reflections in the water, and a couple of the children of Demeter search for plants and flowers to add to their catalogue.

The rest of us work out the schedule for guarding Thalia's tree. Before Clarisse went on her quest, we had a lot less campers signing up for border patrol. Now that she's gone, monster attacks seem a lot more frequent and there are a lot more injuries. People are taking things more seriously now. Even all the campers that just left help out sometimes.

Once we've got the general order down, the remaining campers wander off in twos and threes so that if Tantalus happens to check in, it will look like people are actually looking for his stupid barbecued chicken.

I say goodbye to my siblings and head over to relieve Malcolm, who slipped away during breakfast to act as look out for monsters. We prefer to have two campers stationed there, but often we can only afford one person sneaking off right under Tantalus' nose. I think Mr. D knows what we're up to, but for some reason he's not ratting us out to our lovely new activities director. Maybe he's hoping that someone will get killed while guarding the tree. Whatever.

When I approach him, Malcolm is leaning back against the huge pine tree while looking bored out of his mind. He glances up when I reach him. "Are you taking over?" he asks hopefully, and then grins when I nod.

"Here you go," he says cheerfully, at the same time removing the bronze whistle from his neck and handing it to me.

"Thanks," I grumble, because I'd really rather be out in the woods, taunting Cheryl about her vanity.

He skips off and I sigh. There's really nothing else for me to do except put on the stupid demigod whistle and wait 'til my shift ends. If you don't know what a demigod whistle is, it's pretty much the same thing as a dog whistle, except it only works on demigods (well that was a toughie, you _certainly_ couldn't tell that from the name).

What do we use the whistle for? Well, one person isn't really much against two huge bronze bulls (which we were fighting the day Annabeth returned to camp with Tyson and Jackson in tow), so the whistle is used to call on the other campers in case of a monster attack. I've been on border patrol three times, and I haven't been attacked once. Which just goes to show you, names don't have as much power over people as the gods seem to think they do. Just because my mother gave me a name that means unfortunate doesn't mean I'm unlucky all the time.

I sigh again and plop down on the grass at the base of the tree. I pass the time by tracing patterns in the fabric of my bright orange Camp Half-Blood T-shirt and by playing with the bronze whistle that hangs around me neck. Now, if you've ever traced patterns and played with a whistle for thirty minutes straight, then you'll know it's extremely boring. It doesn't take me very long at all to grow restless. I start to tap my foot impatiently. My shift is an hour. I survived the first half of it; I can survive the second, too. Just thirty more minutes.

…Gods, I can't last another ten minutes, let alone thirty! It feels like I've been sitting here for five hours. I should just get up and leave right now. No monster is going to come–

Oh, man. I actually jinxed myself. I mean, I used to think that the idea that you could jinx yourself was a load of bull, but…I change my mind. Why do I change my mind? Well, it has a little something to do with the miniature army of hellhounds that is _charging right at me._

I jump up like I've just been electrocuted. My right hand removes a celestial bronze sword from its sheath, while my left hand raises the bronze whistle to my mouth. I blow into the whistle with all my strength. I put so much air into it that when I'm done I feel dizzy from lack of oxygen. It pays off, though. The shrill blast that emanates from the whistle is so loud that it nearly shatters my eardrums.

Almost immediately, three Athena girls, one Ares boy (NOT Sherman) and both of Mr. D's twins come to my aid. The Ares guy lets out a battle cry and charges right into the mass of hellhounds. The Athena girls gesture for me, Pollux and Castor to join them, which we do right away, because to be honest, we would really rather leave all the fighting to the son of the war god.

"Okay," one of the girls shouts over the snarling of the hellhounds. "Mark is doing pretty well up over there," she starts.

"I'll say," Pollux interjects, and as I watch Mark hack up demon after demon, I have to agree.

The girl ignores the blond boy and continues, "But he won't last forever. There are too many of them. So we need a plan."

"And you guys are going to come up with this plan, right? 'Cause I'm all out of ideas for destroying a mob of angry dogs that are all as large as Clifford."

"Clifford? Who is–never mind. I'm better off not knowing. But yes, Castor, we will come up with the plan. Zeus knows the rest of you guys are entirely useless," the second Athena girl mutters under her breath. Though we all hear her, none of us argue. 'Cause lets face it, she's right.

"Now," says the third sister. "You guys help Mark out. Keep those Clifford-sized dogs distracted." Well at least one of them had a childhood that actually consisted of them watching cartoon shows about giant red dogs.

Castor turns pale. "Us? Why us? Why do we have to do the distracting?"

"Because we're coming up with the plan." The second girl smiles sweetly at him and then adds, "But don't worry, Dess will help you. Won't you, Dess?"

"I will?" I ask, and then hastily backtrack when I notice her glaring at me. "I mean, of course I will."

"Well that's reassuring," Pollux says sarcastically, but when his brother and I charge into the fray, he's right there beside us.

I head straight for Mark, who is in process of obliterating a hellhound. He's already destroyed more than a quarter of them, but the Athena girls are right; he won't hold up much longer. Using my sword, I slice up a monster that was about to attack Mark. Gold dust explodes around me but I ignore it. I cover the Ares' boys previously undefended back as best as I can while trying not to die.

I catch glimpses of Pollux and Castor fighting off the monsters. They both fight with swords and shields. Watching them fight is the most amazing thing I've ever seen (I'm exaggerating, I know). They both seem to know instinctively when the other one is in danger. A hellhound lunges at Pollux's side, but Castor is already there, running the huge dog through with his sword.

Somewhere off to the side, I can see the Athena girls conversing. Gods, could they take _any_ longer to come up with a plan? _I _could have come up with a plan by now. Granted, it would most likely be an incredibly stupid plan that would somehow blow up all of Long Island (which is where Camp Half-Blood is located), but at least we would _have_ a plan.

Then I notice that one of the girls seems to be missing. Oh my gods, she didn't go to get Tantalus, did she? No, there's no way she would get him. Her mother is the goddess of wisdom. Getting Tantalus would be the most idiotic thing to do in this situation. Children of Athena don't _do_ idiotic. They just don't.

I duck as a hellhound attempts to scratch out my eyeballs. Mark stabs the red-eyed demon right in the face. Honestly, if I get anymore gold dust on me it's going to look like I bathe in the stuff.

Another hellhound leaps at Mark. It knocks him to the ground and his sword goes flying, landing at me feet. The huge hound snarls, baring his massive fangs at a now terrified Mark. I seize Mark's sword with my left hand. I've never used two swords in my life, but the characters in video games do it all the time, so how hard can it be?

Apparently, it can be very hard. The weight of two swords throws me off almost entirely. I swing wildly at the hellhound with Mark's sword and almost impale myself. Still, it distracts the hound, which was my intention (I think). Unfortunately, it decides that its next target is me. Mark is still lying on the ground, dazed, and I'm holding his only weapon. So yeah, things aren't looking so good for me.

I back up and hold the two swords up in a sort of cross formation, so that it looks like I'm trying to ward off a vampire. I feel warm breath and saliva–oh, gross, dog drool–on the back of my neck, and I realize there's another hellhound behind me.

Well, that's it then; I'm done for. I wonder what my shroud will look like. I know that the Hephaestus cabin usually uses metal shrouds, but I really don't want one of those. Hopefully my siblings know me well enough to go against tradition and make me a–what colour should my shroud be? Maybe purple? I like purple. And yellow. Yeah, so they'll make me a purple and yellow shroud. With jewellery on it. Only they don't know that I like jewellery. Crap. Maybe I should've written some sort of will. I wonder if Hades will let me mail my siblings one. Do they have paper in the Underworld?

I close my eyes and wait for–I don't know, some sort of tunnel with a light at the end of it? Flashbacks of my life? All I get is the feeling that ashes are raining down on my head. _Ashes?_ I open my eyes, and am surprised to find that what I thought was ash is actually golden dust from a fallen monster.

Jake grins at me as he holds up a giant hammer with a sharp (and when I say sharp, I mean _sharp_) point on each end. I don't really know what it's called. All I know is that it saved my life. Suddenly I recall that there was another hellhound behind me. I whirl around, and there's Beckendorf, holding up a huge shield with his right arm, while a sword rests in his left hand (he's left-handed, in case you couldn't figure that out on your own).

Both of my brothers are staring at me expectantly, like they're waiting for me to praise their 'awesomeness' or something. So naturally, I do the exact opposite. "What in Zeus' name took you guys so long? I was two seconds away from being monster chow!" I exclaim, fuming.

Beckendorf takes a nervous step back. Suddenly I feel like laughing. Is he _scared_ of me? He's at least a foot taller than me. Jake, on the other hand, takes a step toward me. "We came as soon as we could," he says earnestly, for once not making a joke. It's nice to know he takes the possibility of me dying seriously. "We would have gotten here faster, only Fiona asked us to bring the cannon–"

I turn pale. "Are you crazy? Why on earth would you bring that thing? It's–"

"I know, I know," Beckendorf says quickly. "It's stupid and idiotic and moronic. It hasn't been tested yet…"

"Aww, don't be so hard on yourself, bro, you _know _it will work. Your solution was pure genius," Jake praises, which seems to make Beckendorf feel a little bit better.

It does nothing for me, though. The survival of everyone on Long Island (I might be exaggerating just a little) is more important than Beckendorf's self-esteem (mostly because he has so much of it).

Probably you're wondering what could cause so much destruction. You remember that cannon I told you about a few years back? Probably not, so let me give you a refresher. My siblings had plans to make a cannon that could fire celestial bronze cannon balls at approaching monsters. The only problem was that normal explosives wouldn't be able to tear through the celestial bronze, and all of the alternatives that the boys (mostly Beckendorf) came up with were too dangerous to use.

Since Thalia's tree created a barrier that protected the camp from monster attacks, the cannon wasn't really needed. So the boys sort of gave up on it. But then the tree was poisoned and the barrier started to fail. So they started up their search for an answer again, only they searched with a lot more urgency. Finally, after many sleepless nights, Beckendorf found a solution.

See, if the inside of the celestial bronze shells are lined with Stygian iron (I'm not entirely sure what it is, but I know that is has something to do with the River Styx), then there's no possibility of the Greek fire escaping through a crack and making contact with the actual cannon and exploding. Or at least, Beckendorf _thinks_ there's no possibility.

Beckendorf's theory hasn't been tested yet. Why? Because Stygian iron isn't exactly easy to come by; it's found in the underworld. Gareth managed to order some from our dad through the Hermes cabin, but he didn't get very much. It's a rare metal, and expensive. We only got a little bit, and we didn't want to waste it all on test runs. So Gareth decided we would only use it in emergencies. I guess me almost dying counts as an emergency. That's nice to know. Still, I'm glad that we didn't have to use it.

It occurs to me that I've been thinking about all of this for awhile. I can be pretty unobservant sometimes, but even I would notice if there were hellhounds attacking me. I glance around and am surprised to find that all of the hounds are gone. There's gold dust everywhere, as well as arrows embedded in the ground. I realize that a lot more campers have gathered to help out. Several Apollo campers are helping Mark and Mr. D's twins, while most of the Hermes kids are brushing monster dust off their weapons.

I notice that the Athena girl who ran off to get help–and the one that made me charge the hellhounds in the first place–doesn't look too happy. In fact, she looks downright furious as glares straight ahead. I turn to see what she's staring at, and the next think I know I'm clapping a hand on my mouth to keep myself from laughing.

"What?" Jake demands.

I ignore his question for the moment. "What's her name?" I ask, pointing at the blond-haired daughter of Athena.

"Jake mentioned her before, she asked us to bring the cannon. Her name's Fiona. But why are you laughing at her?" Beckendorf questions.

Quickly, I explain that I'm laughing because one of the female Apollo campers is tending to Castor's wounds while very obviously flirting with him, and Fiona has been glaring daggers at the girl for the past five minutes. My half-brothers immediately start snickering and saying 'Someone's _jealous_!' in mocking tones.

The campers all start to head back, the Apollo girl supporting Castor while Fiona walks behind them, absolutely seething with rage, and we decide that we should get the cannon and follow them.

"Shouldn't of brought this thing here, now we have to lug it all the way back," Beckendorf grunts.

"Well, since you two are the strong ones, I think you guys should drag it back to the Armory." I try to make my smile look as angelic as possible–which means that it probably looks a little demonic.

"No way! You guys are older than me, you should bring it back," Jake protests vehemently.

"That's right, Jake," Beckendorf agrees. "We _are_ older. And you should always listen to your elders, so…" He grins at me mischievously and we both take off as fast as we can.

"Hey! Guys! You can't make be bring this back by myself! It's like a thousand pounds! Guys?" We run, laughing our heads off as we hear his increasingly frantic shouts.

And then something in his voice seems to change. "Guys? Come back! DESS, HELP!"

We wheel around, and my blood turns to ice. Jake is in trouble, all right. A massive shadow hangs over us as Beckendorf and I run back to our terrified half-brother. The shadow soars upward, and I recognize its owner as an eagle. Only about fifty times the size of the regular bird, with huge black wings and blood dripping from its talons. Please, _please_ don't let that be Jake's blood. That had better not be Jake's blood.

Anger floods through me. Nobody–I repeat, NOBODY–messes with my little brother and gets away with it. My sword finds its way into my hand without any conscious command on my part. I charge the eagle, somehow ignoring Beckendorf who is screaming at me to stop, somehow ignoring my brain which is trying to make me realize that I have no chance against the eagle.

The giant bird's eyes are fixed on Jake, but when I come running at it while brandishing a celestial bronze sword, it switches its focus to me. It lunges at me, and it occurs to me that the bird's wingspan is about ten times longer than I am tall.

The eagle's talons rip through my right arm and my sword goes skittering across the grass. I feel like my head is going to explode from the pain. I barely even notice all the blood. It takes all my focus to keep my eyes open, to keep myself standing.

Yeah, I'm definitely going to die this time. My legs give out and my knees hit the grass. As my vision starts to blur from the pain in my arm (yeah, I'm a wimp when it comes to pain), I notice Jake's hazy form heading towards an unidentifiable shape. Or is that Beckendorf running towards me? I can't tell. Maybe it's both. I can sort of make out the eagle's wings flapping above me. Somehow, I can see its yellow eyes staring down at me as it gets ready to go in for the kill. My sight seems to fog up even more.

And then, I'm waiting.

* * *

**Author's Note: For the next while, Luke will only be in flashbacks (though there will be a lot of flashbacks, starting in chapter 9) for the most part, but eventually he'll be back in the actual story. **

**Reviews are appreciated. **


	7. I Witness an Explosion and a Trial

**MAIN TITLE: The Keeper of Fate**

**WARNINGS: See first chapter for warnings.**

**NOTES: Thanks to **Queen Alexandera's Birdwing** and **MeganLeBlanc** for reviewing this chapter!**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own the PJO series. Rick Riordan does. **

* * *

**Chapter 7: I Witness an Explosion and a Trial**

Right, so now that you're all caught up to speed, I can get back to what I was just doing: praying to Hades that my death will be quick and painless and that I won't be chucked straight into Tartarus. Not that I've done anything to deserve being thrown into the nightmare that is the prison in the Underworld–or at least, I don't think I have.

This really, _really_ sucks. I'm nineteen years old and I'm going to die. Man, I never even got to see the look on Cheryl's face when she realizes that I emptied her hand sanitizer (she carries the stuff around 24/7, just in case she accidently engages in physical contact with the rest of us lowly folk) and replaced it with a mixture of gasoline and Vaseline. I don't even know if that's a gross combo or not. I just mixed them together 'cause they rhyme.

While I'm lying here pondering my own death, the giant eagle soars upwards. Maybe it's going to just fly away? No, it's still hovering there, obviously seconds away from swooping down to finish me off.

My arm is bleeding heavily now. I still can't see, but I somehow struggle to my feet because my pride insists that I die standing tall (well, more like standing hunched over because my arm really, _really_ hurts). I hear a loud sound like a gunshot. What the heck is that? I try to see through the fog of pain, but I can't.

I close my eyes, just as something–a person, I think–crashes into me. The force of the collision sends us both flying backward, away from the eagle. It's a good thing I don't have my sword in my hand, or I'm sure it would've stabbed both myself and whoever ran into me several times. As it is, an extremely hard object–definitely metal–slams into my ribs.

Momentum carries us a good distance away from the eagle. I open my eyes and focus as hard as I can on the boy who is raising a shield (so _that's_ what nearly broke my rib) over the two of us. His skin reminds me of dark chocolate. His hands are huge and calloused.

I try to sit up but the boy–Beckendorf?–pushes me back down. "Close your eyes." Yeah, it's definitely Beckendorf, and so I obey his order.

It's hard to describe what happens next, but I'll try. There's a deafening explosion, and light flashes against my eyelids. I turn my face to the ground and taste dirt (well, not really, I just like to complain). Heat rolls over me and I can feel Beckendorf bring the shield closer to us.

I know it's over when Beckendorf pushes the shield away and gets up. I can feel him trembling like crazy as he turns me over. Yay. No more dirt. "Dess…are–are you all right?" he asks, his voice shaking. My response is something like, "Umph." I don't open my eyes.

I can hear someone running over to us, and then Jake's frantic voice shouting, "Beckendorf? Are you guys okay? _Is Dess okay?_ Beckendorf, tell me she's okay!"

"I don't know, man, she won't open her eyes. Toss me the nectar, her arm is all messed up."

The next second I feel liquid trickling across my right arm, and the pain starts to fade. The wound is still bleeding, but I think I'll live. Well, okay, I _know_ I'll live; it's just more fun to be overdramatic.

"DESS! For the love of Hephaestus, open your eyes!" Jake's angry voice is right next to my ear.

And at last, I do. I wrench my eyelids apart–the pain is gone, so it's much easier to see–and take in my surrounding. _Holy Styx._ The giant bird demon is gone, but I don't see any gold dust. Was the explosion really that powerful? I look around at the charred grass, and I realize that yes, the explosion really _was_ that powerful.

"Finally! Say something, will you? So we know you're all right." My brothers still look anxious.

"I cannot believe," I begin, my voice hoarse, "that you idiots fired the cannon. Do you have _any_ idea how much damage you could've done?"

Beckendorf lets out a sigh a relief, turns to a now grinning Jake, and says, "Well, she _did_ just insult us, so she's definitely all right."

"Oh, shut up," I say, but I'm smiling all the same.

* * *

Later, after Will Solace (from the Apollo cabin) healed my arm, my brothers and I meet with all of the head counsellors in secret to discuss the creation of the cannon and to determine if Beckendorf and Jake should be punished for the risks they took when they fired it.

I examine all of the faces as we sit in a skewed circle in the woods, far from prying eyes. I think about how much this circle has changed in the three years I've been here. Obviously, there's no one here from Zeus', Hera's, and Artemis' cabins because said cabins are currently empty. Since Percy's out searching for the Fleece, there's no representative for Poseidon, either.

The rest of the cabins are a different story. Katie Gardner from Demeter is here, having replaced her older brother who used to be head counselor back when I first came to camp. Poor guy was in his last year of university, engaged to a pretty, mortal girl–and then he was hit by a car.

Elliot, the computer geek from the Ares cabin, decided to retire and let Clarisse take over after _the incident_. And no, I'm not going to tell you what _the incident_ was. You're better off not knowing, trust me. Since Clarisse is on her quest, the Ares cabin sent Mark instead. Technically Sherman should be second-in-command because he's been here longer, but no one is going to put him in a position of authority after what happened… Sorry, I should stop mentioning it since I'm not going to tell you about it.

Anyways, lots of the previous head counselors have passed the torch on to the next camper even though they're still at camp. Xavier, son of Athena, is still around but he handed leadership of his cabin to Annabeth. Obviously, Annabeth isn't here either, which means her second, Fiona, is taking her place in this meeting. To be honest, though, I think Fiona is getting tired of going to meetings. She's been training Malcolm, so I'm sure he'll be replacing her any day now.

Lee Fletcher is now head counsellor for Apollo, because his half-sister just moved in with her boyfriend and Lee's been at camp the longest out of all the Apollo kids. We're all hoping his sister won't join the list of dead half-bloods anytime soon.

Since Pollux and Castor are the only children of Dionysus at camp (that we know of), they take turns going to meetings. Sometimes they both go, if the issue being discussed is really important. Today, though, only Pollux shows, which seems to disappoint Fiona.

Meanwhile, Cheryl is here with her protégé, Silena Beauregard. Silena is actually very nice compared to the other children of Aphrodite. Cheryl surprised everyone last week by announcing that the younger girl will be taking over the Aphrodite cabin in a few months. Cheryl hasn't been head counsellor for very long at all. I can tell she likes the power; she just doesn't like the responsibility that comes with it. Oh well. The Aphrodite cabin will be in good hands soon.

Like Mr. D's twins, Connor and Travis Stoll take turns going to the meetings (unless, as I said before, the meeting is really important). Today Connor is the one sitting beside Gardner and making rabbit ears behind her head while she's not looking. When she does look, he quickly removes his hands and whistles innocently.

If you're wondering why Luke isn't the Hermes representative, than too bad, you're going to be wondering for a while. Where is Luke? Gods, that's none of your business, stop asking me that! Can't you tell it's a touchy subject?

Finally, from the Hephaestus cabin (saving the best for last) we have: me, Beckendorf, Jake, Zeth, and Gareth. I told you earlier that all of us we're going to the meeting, didn't I? Don't you ever pay attention to anything I say? Gods, you can be so rude sometimes… Well, okay, you're not rude. I'm sorry if I offended you; it's just that thinking about Luke always puts me on edge.

But anyways, if this was a normal meeting than only Gareth and Beckendorf would be here. See, most of the campers think that Beckendorf is head counsellor and that Gareth is gone, but the year rounders know that Gareth is only showing Beckendorf the ropes right now.

Gareth's been here a long time, you know–approximately ten years, he's twenty-one–, and I don't blame him for wanting to leave. I'll never admit it, of course, but I'm really, _really_ going to miss him. He's closest to me in age, so there are a lot of times when we're the only ones in our cabin who understand each other.

So now that I've given you a long and pointless description of how the identities of the head counsellors have changed throughout the years, we can get to the important stuff: what actually takes place in the meeting.

Because Chiron's not here, it takes a while to get down to business. Everyone's talking all at once, until Katie gets fed up with the chaos and shouts, "Oh, would you all just be _quiet_?"

Silence steals over the circle almost immediately.

Gardner takes a deep breath. "Good. Now we can start, then." She turns to Lee Fletcher, who is a year younger than Cheryl and I, and says, "You want to lead the meeting?" Her tone makes it clear that he doesn't really have a choice.

Fletcher shifts uncomfortably and clears his throat. "Sure. Well, you all know why were here," he starts. "The Hephaestus cabin built a cannon which relies on Greek fire. And we all know how dangerous Greek fire is."

There's a murmur of agreement which seems to give Lee more confidence. "So they had an idea which _might_ decrease the risk, but it hasn't been tested yet. But those two–" he gestures at Beckendorf and Jake "–decided they would fire the cannon anyway. By doing that, they put the entire camp in danger."

"Yeah, they could have killed us–" Of course Cheryl is the first one to comment.

"It was super dangerous, how _dare_ they–" That's Mark.

"Can't believe they would do something like that; even I'm not _that_ stupid–" Connor chimes in.

It seems like everyone disapproves of their actions. I would too, except that they sort of saved my life.

"Now just hang on a second." Silena frowns. "We should hear their side of the story. Charlie, why don't you tell us what happened?" She smiles at the dark-skinned boy.

_Charlie?_ No one _ever_ calls Beckendorf by his first name, or a variation of it. I figure that Beckendorf is going to tell her off, but he just blushes and stammers, "Um, uh, I–well–"

Oh my gods. Oh my _gods_. I exchange a startled glance with Zeth and Gareth, and then catch Jake grinning wickedly like he's already noting this moment in his blackmail material folder for siblings (apparently he has an entire department in his brain dedicated to blackmail material).

This certainly explains a lot. Now I know why Beckendorf is always hanging around the stables these days (he hates Pegasus', most children of Hephaestus do, including me), he's been spying on Silena! Well, maybe spying is too strong a word. Stalking is more appropriate. …Okay, fine, he's not stalking her; I'm just exaggerating like I always do.

Aww, I can't believe my little brother has a crush on a daughter of Aphrodite–thank the gods it's not Cheryl. I decide that Jake has the right idea; I'm going to tease Beckendorf mercilessly. Or at least I will after this meeting is done.

Anyways, Beckendorf doesn't look like he's going to be much help on the explain-what-happened front. Jake casts a pleading glance at Fiona, who admits that she was the one who had them bring the cannon to the border. She describes the situation, and insists that it was the right thing to do as there were so many hellhounds and she didn't know if reinforcements would get there in time.

"You know, I think she's right," Pollux agrees. "There were a heck of a lot of drooling dogs out there and only four of us fighting; we would've been creamed if the rest of the campers hadn't stepped in."

"That's all well and good," Gardner says. "But they fired the cannon _after_ the hellhounds were destroyed."

"That's a good point," Gareth admits. "What made you guys take that chance?"

"It was my fault," I confess. Jake and Beckendorf open their mouths to protest, but I can't let them take the blame for this. If it was for something stupid like putting whipped cream on everything Tantalus owns so that all of his stuff runs away from him, then sure, why not? But they could get into serious trouble for this, and I'm not about to let that happen.

"I did something really stupid that could've gotten me killed. They thought that firing the cannon would be the best way to save me."

"Hey," Jake says angrily, "I'm the one who needed saving. That giant eagle was about to swoop down and rip out my organs. If Dess hadn't charged it, I would've died."

Fiona's eyes widen. "Giant eagle? You don't mean–you can't possibly mean–the _Aetos Kaukasios_?"

She's clearly expecting gasps of horror, but the only reactions she gets are blank stares.

"The _what_?" I ask, totally bemused.

She rolls her eyes. "The _Aetos Kaukasios_. The Caucasian Eagle. As in the giant eagle that picked out the Titan Prometheus' liver every morning."

"_Every_ morning?" Connor looks perplexed. "But I thought even Titans only had one liver each."

"Idiot. His liver grew back every night, so when morning came the eagle just ripped it out again," Cheryl explains.

We all stare at her. "What?" she snaps, her tone defensive. "I don't spend _all_ of my time on fashion and make-up. I do pick up a book occasionally."

"Anywayssssss," Connor starts again. "Why do they call it the Caucasian eagle? Is it like, super pale?"

"Connor," Gardner lets out an aggravated sigh. "You are _such_ an idiot."

"Hey, it's a fair question!" Connor protests, and Mark, Jake, Pollux, and I all nod.

Fiona and Katie exchange an exasperated glance. Fiona sighs and answers, "Okay, first of all, Caucasians don't necessarily have pale skin. The Caucasian race just refers to people indigenous to certain areas around the globe. Second of all, it's called the Caucasian Eagle because it most likely originated from the Caucasus Mountains."

"Right." I ask uncertainly, "And the Caucasus Mountains are where, exactly?"

"They're spread throughout several European and Asian countries. Between the Black Sea and the Caspian Sea," Zeth replies before Cheryl can retort with a scathing remark about my intelligence.

"Okay. Glad we sorted that out. So just to be sure, the eagle isn't pale, right?" Connor checks.

"As far as I've heard, it's gold," Fiona states.

"Gold?" Jake is startled. "No way, that thing was black as night with blood all over it."

"Oh. Well maybe it changed colour when it reformed in the Underworld." Fiona shrugs, unconcerned.

"The Underworld? But who destroyed–"

"Hercules did. Now can we _please_ get back to point of this meeting? I really want to get back to my cabin." Fiona is so impatient that she interrupts Pollux. I bet she wouldn't have interrupted Castor.

"She's right." Lee takes charge again. "Okay, so Jake was in danger and Dess intervened, and then Dess was in danger so you guys fired the cannon. Have I got it right?"

Jake and I nod.

Silena starts to fidget. She takes a deep breath and then says, "Now, please don't take this the wrong way. I'm very glad that Dess is okay. But lots of people could have died or gotten hurt. Was it really worth it?"

Zeth clenches his fists, Gareth turns a strange shade of purple-red, and Jake glares murderously at the younger daughter of Aphrodite. But it's Beckendorf who answers.

"Yes. I know it was dangerous. I know it was stupid. But," he looks her straight in the eye, "if I could go back in time to before that cannon was fired, I would do it all over again. Dess is my sister. Of course she's worth it."

There's a moment of silence. Slowly, Silena smiles at Beckendorf, and I realize that despite her words, this was the response she wanted from him. I look down because my eyes are starting to water. I don't normally cry, but… I can't help it. It's sappy, it's cliché, but I didn't realize that he cares that much. To be honest, I'm not used to meaning that much to, well, _anyone_. There was a time where I thought I did, but that was just an illusion.

My own mother never really gave a damn about me. She wouldn't even throw away her self-destructive ideals for her only daughter, and here's Beckendorf, announcing in front of the head counsellors that he would gamble the lives of everyone at camp if there was even the slimmest chance that it would save me. And not only did he say it, he actually went through with it. Trust me, if your half-sibling did that for you, you would be moved to the point of tears, too.

"So, you guys have had your say. Anyone think we should punish them?" Lee asks, but as no one suggests any horrible forms of torture, he continues, "All right then, no punishment. You can all go back to your cabins now."

The various counsellors drift off to do their own thing, and soon the only people left are me, my siblings, and–Mark?

The son of Ares is staring at me intently, like he has something to say but he doesn't really want to say it.

I let out an exasperated sigh. "Just spit it out, will you?"

"Okay. I just wanted to–to–to thank you," he makes a face, "for-saving-my-life." He says the last part in a rush, like he's hoping I won't hear.

"So that's why you didn't vote for them to be punished," Gareth realizes. "You owe her."

"Well, yeah, that's part of it," he admits.

"And the other part?" I question.

A smirk slides onto his face. "I'm the son of the war god. I live for chaos, for bloodshed, for destruction. And that cannon did some _massive_ damage. So yeah, I'm a little pissed because I could've died, but now that we know that that cannon is 'safe', we can use it to cause even _more _damage–to the enemy."

He walks off, laughing to himself. My siblings and I exchange uneasy looks. I can tell we're all thinking the same thing: none of us are sure if we really like his answer.

* * *

**Author's Note: As always, eviews are appreciated.**


	8. Mr D Throws the Cannibal Overboard

**MAIN TITLE: The Keeper of Fate**

**WARNINGS: See first chapter for warnings.**

**NOTES: Thanks to **Iiidog5**, **Queen Alexandera's Birdwing**, **MeganLeBlanc**, **KittyKat**, **Neela4232**, **Mia lovely** and **Guest **for reviewing this chapter! **

**In response to **Mia lovely**'s review: There will be less focus on Dess' brothers and more focus on Luke and his relationship with Dess starting next chapter. Also, I'm not going to switch POVs at all in this story. I might do a few oneshots in Luke's POV eventually.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the PJO series, and any dialogue you recognize was copied out of the Sea of Monsters, so obviously Rick Riordan owns it. **

* * *

**Chapter 8: Mr. D Throws the Cannibal Overboard**

We're all gonna die soon. That's what's been going around camp. People are whispering about it, their faces grim as they prepare for the slaughter they think is inevitable. No one believes that Clarisse or Percy and Annabeth and Tyson will get back in time–or at all. Any day now Thalia's tree is going to die, and the rest of us will soon follow.

Cheerful outlook, isn't it? I'm not sure I completely agree with it. I think Clarisse and the others can pull it off–_if_ they work together. Unfortunately, I don't think that's very likely. Oh well. I just thought of something; if we _all_ die, who's going to burn our shrouds? Heck, forget _burning_ them, who's going to _make_ them?

…All right, so I might be catching the doomsday-is-coming bug. It's not my fault. The atmosphere around here is just so depressing; sometimes it's hard to resist the urge to simply give in. To give up on Thalia's pine tree, on Camp Half-Blood–on everything.

* * *

The sound of a conch shell being blown in the distance tells me it's dinnertime. I glance up and see that my brothers have abandoned their various metalworking projects and are leaving the Armory. The amateurs use Arts and Crafts to forge weapons, which sucks for them because the building burned down after a _Draco Aionius_ attacked it.

I throw down the hair clip/Hunter's bow I'm currently working on (Apollo asked me to make something for his sister's Hunters in the last note he sent me, and even though I don't like them I feel it would be hazardous to my health to refuse) and head out the door after my siblings.

Eventually we join the mass of demigods and satyrs (though it's a smaller mass than usual, as many campers are in the infirmary) who are trudging up the hill to the mess hall. As we walk, I catch sight of a familiar head of dark-blond hair among the sea of orange T-shirts. I clap a hand on Gareth's shoulder and gesture to the girl who is stranded in the crowd of campers. At my brother's nod, I break away from my siblings and make my way over to the eleven year old who's head only comes up to my waist.

When I reach her I ask, "Need some help, Isabel? How come Elliot's not around?"

With a relieved tone she answers the first question. "Yes please."

As I assist her I ask again: "And Elliot is where, exactly?"

"Oh, Tantalus wanted to talk to him so he left the Arena early." Her words are accompanied by a bright smile.

"And none of the other boys would help you out?" The disgust in my voice is poorly concealed.

"Well they got me this far," she says. "But then they said they smelled food and they all ran off. It's all right, though, I don't mind."

Anger rises in me, directed partly at her brothers and partly at Isabel herself. I hate it when she does this. I hate how whenever people treat her like dirt she just waves her hand like it's no big deal. If Clarisse were here, the sons of Ares would have their heads bashed together. But Clarisse isn't here, and Isabel won't stand up for herself. I mean that figuratively, of course. After all, it's not as if she can in the literal sense anymore…

"You would think that at least Sherman would have the decency to offer a hand." The words are accusing; blame is injected into every syllable.

The younger girl is quiet for a second. "It wasn't his fault, Dess."

I cast a disbelieving look at her. "Not his fault? How can you say that? He left you alone in the woods with only a sword that you couldn't even lift to defend yourself."

"But he didn't know what would happen!" Isabel protests. "He didn't know that that Myrmeke would be there."

"He knew there were a lot of monster in there," I retort. "He knew there was a good chance that you would get hurt. He knew there was a possibility that you would die."

"But I didn't. I'm all right; I'm still alive. So it's fine. I didn't lose my life."

"No," I agree, and when I continue the bitterness in my voice is very apparent. "Instead you lost the ability to walk and you're stuck in a wheel chair for the rest of your life." I immediately feel bad for bringing it up, because Isabel's lip starts to quiver like she's about to cry.

"Don't get me wrong, Isabel, it's better that you're in a wheel chair than in a grave. But Sherman and your other brothers should taken better care of you. Chiron and Mr. D should have taken better care of you." '_I _should have taken better care of you' is what I'm thinking, but I don't say it because I know it will upset her.

"Let's not talk about this anymore," she pleads.

I stare straight ahead. "Fine."

I continue to wheel her chair toward the pavilion, ignoring the roar of the silence.

* * *

After saying a tense goodbye to Isabel I rejoin my brothers at table nine. Oddly enough, I'm not late for dinner. So I sit and wait for Tantalus to give his usual beginning-of-the-meal-speech which somehow always involves food and death and Percy Jackson. Honestly, I'm starting to think that guy is obsessed with the son of Poseidon.

However, to everyone's intense surprise, just as Tantalus opens his mouth to speak Mr. D gets off his lazy butt and unleashes a sliver of his pent-up frustration. "Yes, yes, we know; you like cheese omelettes and wish Jackson would die a horrible, painful death. So do I, but you don't see me announcing it at every meal. Now," he turns to the campers and snaps, "what are you brats waiting for? Just eat your damn dinner."

We obey, piling food onto our plates and then getting up, one cabin at a time, to throw part of our dinner into the bronze brazier. When it's my turn, I scrape the juiciest barbecued steak I have into the flames, which seems to surprise my brothers. Normally I just toss in the first edible thing I see. It's a wonder my dearest father hasn't vaporized me yet.

"Hephaestus," I murmur, and then add: "Hey, Pops, do me a favour for once in my crappy, miserable life and get rid of the cannibal for me, will you?"

No response except an intoxicating aroma which is some sort of combination of fresh coffee, chocolate chip cookies still cooling, and buttered popcorn that's in the process of popping in the microwave. Huh. Usually my burnt offering smells like a mixture of rotting fish and sewage. I hope my dad doesn't expect this wonderful fragrance from now on. I don't want to sacrifice the best portion of my meal to him EVERYday.

I take a seat between Zeth and Beckendorf and dig in. I cut my steak at lightning speed and then shovel the pieces into my mouth. I swallow them rapidly, barely pausing to chew–or breathe, for that matter.

"There she goes again." Beckendorf shakes his head in amusement. "Inhaling her food like it's going to disappear at any moment."

"It might. You never know," I respond with my mouth still full.

"Hey, wait a second," Jake objects. "If _I_ had said that to you, you would've told me to shut my mouth."

"Well, yeah. What's your point?" I ask, though I already know where this is going.

Jake pouts, but he doesn't look _too_ weird because he's still a child to me. "How come Beckendorf gets special treatment?"

"Because I'm just awesome like that." Beckendorf puffs out his chest, his words dripping with fabricated arrogance. Which is good. I don't think I'd be able to stand it if it _wasn't_ fabricated.

Gareth speaks over his apprentice's fading voice, "No, it's because he fixed the showerhead in Tantalus' bathroom to spray liquid cheese onto the old guy's head. And we all know how much Dess appreciates it when people make Tantalus suffer."

"Don't we all? But that's not why she's giving him preferential treatment." Zeth nods importantly and then continues, "It's obviously because she's secretly started a band dedicated to Justin Beiber and she wants Beckendorf to play drums."

"Okay, first of all, even if I did start a band–which I wouldn't–I would _never_ dedicate it to that Beaver guy. Second, you're _all_ wrong. I'm not giving Beckendorf special treatment; I'm simply taking pity on him because he's going to be enduring a large amount of teasing over the next week." Well, that was a slightly longwinded speech.

"You're lying. You don't have anything on me," Beckendorf tries to sound confident, but uncertainty leaks into his voice.

"You're right, of course." I let out a regretful sigh, and Beckendorf looks thoroughly relieved. I then add, "Unless you count the three hour long video I have of you hiding in the stables, drooling over Silena Beauregard while she hangs out with the Pegasi."

"I–that's–wasn't–absolutely–drooling–ridiculous–" Beckendorf stammers, tripping over his words, until at last he exclaims triumphantly, "You're lying! You don't have a camera; how could you have possibly recorded that?"

"Borrowed Katie Gardner's. You know, that really expensive fancy one that she uses to 'document nature's beauty'? Super high-definition footage. Amazing high-quality sound. The works." I grin at my brother, whose face is now a brilliant cherry red.

Jake and the others immediately pounce on his embarrassment, jeering at him and catcalling. This earns us several odd glances from our fellow campers and a couple of sour glares from Tantalus and Mr. D, but my brothers don't really notice and I don't really care. I'm about to sit back and enjoy my dinner in peace, but of course Jackson chooses that very inconvenient (for me at least) moment to Iris-message camp.

My fork is halfway to my mouth when I notice the air in the middle of the pavilion start to shiver. How does air shiver? I don't know. Maybe shiver isn't the right word. It sort of flickers between the actual pavilion and an image of two boys conversing while a crowd of monsters and demigods observe.

There's a definite tension in the air, as if they're all waiting for a fight to start. In fact, a sword is appearing the hand of the boy who is facing us–Percy Jackson, without a doubt; his hair is black, his eyes green. And if Jackson is there… I scan the background and feel relieve when I note that Annabeth, Tyson, and Grover (yes, I was worried about Grover, but don't tell anyone, okay?) are there, too.

My heart sinks, though, when I realize that: one, Clarisse isn't with them; two, they all look like they've been to Hades and back; and three, they all look incredibly panicked, like they're in some kind of danger. Which is pretty obvious, considering there are monsters everywhere.

Then the boy who has his back to us speaks: "This is no time for heroics, Percy. Drop your puny little sword, or I'll have you killed sooner rather than later."

My blood freezes. I would recognize that voice anywhere, even though it's distorted by loathing and anger and bitterness; even though it's been almost a year since I've heard it. I recognize it–of course I do, it's more familiar to me than the sound of my own laughter–, but I don't want to. I want both of the boys to shut up. I want the Iris-message to stop. I don't want to see this, to hear this. I don't want to feel this pain.

But of course they keep going. "Who poisoned Thalia's tree, Luke?" Percy demands. I flinch when I hear his name. Maybe some part of me was still hoping it wasn't him. But there's really no denying it. All I can see of him is the back of his sandy-blond head, but I know that if he turns around his eyes will be blue; his face marred by a scar on one side.

"I did, of course." He snarls the words. "I already told you that."

I feel like someone has stabbed me with a knife. I knew that he poisoned the tree. I _knew_ it. But I wanted so badly to believe otherwise. A hand falls on my shoulder–Zeth. It occurs to me for the first time that the other campers and Mr. D and Tantalus are all seeing this, too.

Every last occupant of cabin eleven–the Hermes cabin–has anger written all over their face. Even the unclaimed kids and the children of the minor gods looked up to Luke and were stung by his betrayal. The Athena campers are throwing anxious glances at Annabeth, worried for her. Meanwhile, Isabel and the sons of Ares are all freaking out about Clarisse's absence–they do care, even if they don't always show it.

The only people who are totally unaffected by what's happening are Mr. D and Tantalus. They both look bored out of their minds. Tantalus is trying to snag a cheeseburger and Mr. D is tracing the rim of his wine glass (which is entirely wine-free) with his index finger.

It's amazing how quickly the brain notices these small details. Luke doesn't even pause after his previous words and simply continues, "I used elder python venom, straight from the depths of Tartarus."

"Chiron had nothing to do with it?" Percy asks, even though we all already know the answer.

"Ha! You know he would never do that. The old horse man wouldn't have the guts," Luke sneers.

The second the words leave his mouth, I see red. The pain fades; anger takes its place. That bastard did _not_ just insult Chiron using _my_ nickname for the centaur. Zeth feels me stiffen and shoots me a warning glance, like he thinks I'm suddenly going to start screaming bloody murder at Luke and blow our cover. I ignore his cautionary look. I don't need it; I'm not _that_ stupid.

"You call it guts? Betraying your friends? Endangering the whole camp?" Despite my mild dislike of Percy, I have to applaud him (silently, of course) for saying that. He's got his priorities straight: friends come first.

Luke makes a sort of upward motion with his right arm; I have a feeling he's lifting his sword. "You don't understand the half of it. I was going to let you take the Fleece…once I was done with it."

There's a slight pause during which we all ponder his words. Even from here, I can almost see the gears turning in Annabeth's head, like her mind is going at a million miles an hour. To my shock, Mr. D tenses, and I realize that he _is_ paying attention. He looks like he's ignoring the entire conversation, but really he's listening intently and is absorbing every word.

Jackson is the first to snap out of his trance. "You were going to heal Kronos."

"Yes! The Fleece's magic would've sped his mending process by tenfold. But you haven't stopped us, Percy. You've only slowed us down a little." I know without being told that Luke's eyes are full of blazing triumph.

"And so you poisoned the tree, you betrayed Thalia, you set us up–all to help Kronos destroy the gods." I can tell that he's trying to incense Luke, to anger him.

I can practically hear Luke's teeth clench. "You know that! Why do you keep asking me?"

Percy responds immediately, his voice brimming with satisfaction: "Because I want everybody in the audience to hear you."

"_What_ audience?" he asks, sounding extremely aggravated. He glances over his shoulder, and the second he sees the Iris-message hanging in midair he whirls around to face the campers that are staring at him in shock, horror, and anger. His flunkies follow his lead, but they all gasp and scramble backward as soon as they see us.

Looking mildly interested, Mr. D comments with a sarcastic tone, "Well, some unplanned dinner entertainment."

"Mr. D, you heard him. You all heard Luke. The poisoning of the tree wasn't Chiron's fault," Jackson addresses the campers as though _we're_ the ones who accused the centaur of committing the crime and then fired him.

Dionysus lets out a long sigh, his face slightly doubtful like he can't believe he was wrong. Then he swallows his pride and says, "I suppose you're right."

I can practically feel the pressure in the campers. Chiron's name is cleared. That means he'll be coming back to camp. And if he's returning as our activities director, then that means...

Tantalus offers his opinion, though he's barely paying attention as he's still trying to grab his cheeseburger. "This Iris-message could be a trick."

"I fear not." He sneers at Tantalus, his voice dripping with disdain. "It appears I shall have to reinstate Chiron as activities director. I suppose I do miss the old horses' pinochle games."

I bristle at that. What _is_ it with people stealing my nickname for Chiron today? Well, okay, Mr. D didn't copy me _exactly_, but still… Annoyed, I glance away from the wine god. Instead, I gaze at Annabeth and the others, at the monsters who are still standing there with their mouths hanging open, staring stupidly at the shimmering image above them.

My face tightens when I see all the demigods on the ship (at least I think it's a ship; it looks like one, from what I can see of it, only there's no large body of water in sight), the same demigods who deserted camp and joined Kronos. I pass over them quickly, trying to ignore the fact that I can see Clarisse's old crush, Chris Rodriguez, standing there with all the traitors. I disregard the urge to punch him. Normally I wouldn't even try to resist, but seeing as it's physically impossible for me to hit him through an Iris-message, I make an exception this time.

As I attempt to avoid looking at Rodriguez, I accidentally meet Luke's eyes. Anyone looking at Luke right now would just think he was staring at the campers in general. But I can see his eyes boring into mine across the distance.

We stare at each other, and I suddenly feel like I'm seventeen all over again. The space between us seems loaded with electricity; there's an intensity there that has nothing to do with all the horrible things he's done. In fact, his sins are the farthest thing from my mind right now.

Instead I'm remembering what it was like when we were dating (yes, I dated Luke, I'll explain it to you later), how there would be that almost tangible tension hanging in the air whenever we locked eyes, how the only thing that would grant me release was his touch.

And for a second I want all of that back. I want to go back to the way things were not even a year ago, when I was more certain that I could trust him than I was that the sun would rise the next morning (which is actually quite reasonable, considering that Apollo isn't the most reliable god around). But I can't. Being with him would be turning my back on Clarisse and Isabel and my brothers.

Luke is still staring at me, and I can't understand his expression. Filled with a sudden rage, I raise my hand and flip him the bird. His lips twitch upwards and he smiles just a little. Then he turns away. Instantly, all of the tension drains out of my body.

I look back at Mr. D just in time to see Tantalus grasp the cheeseburger with his thin fingers. He stares at it in awe, lifting it from his plate tentatively like he half expects it to leap out of his hands. Which is what's supposed to happen.

"I got it!" he crows with delight.

Mr. D's face is almost smug. "We are no longer in need of your services, Tantalus," he proclaims.

Tantalus blissful expression vanishes. "What? But–"

"You may return to the Underworld. You are dismissed." I can practically feel the pressure building, almost at it's maximum capacity.

"No! But–Nooooooooooo!" he howls. In a final, desperate attempt to eat food, he tries to shove the burger into his mouth, but it's too late. When he disappears, his cheeseburger doesn't go with him. And as it lands lightly on his plate, the pressure in the campers finally reaches its limit.

We explode all at once, cheering ourselves hoarse. The children of Athena start laughing like hyenas. The Stoll brothers do a victory dance while the Ares kids bellow, "Oh _heck_ yes!" Katie Gardner bursts into tears of happiness and Lee Fletcher pounds on his table triumphantly. The Aphrodite girls squeal and hug each other, while Dionysus' twins climb onto their table and recite a chant that they came up with on the spot, which almost makes their father smile.

My brothers stand up and clap, and I follow their lead. Vaguely, I wonder if my father actually answered my prayer or if it's just coincidence that I happened to ask him to get rid of Tantalus right before Tantalus was kicked out of camp. I guess it doesn't really matter in the end, 'cause he's gone either way.

I meet Luke's eyes again, and this time I don't feel that strange, painful longing for a time that's already passed. Defiantly, I yell out, "Take _that_, you slimy, traitorous piece of Minotaur crap!" Which is probably the most pathetic insult I've ever come up with, but hey, it works. In fact, if his actions next are anything to go by, it works a little _too_ well.

He lets out a roar of rage, then raises his sword and destroys whatever it is (a fountain, I think) that was creating a rainbow. The last thing I see is him glaring at me, and then the Iris-message dissolves completely.

Most of the campers stop cheering. I suddenly feel incredibly stupid. Because yes, I got the satisfaction of pissing Luke off, and yes, Tantalus is gone. But so is our only way of seeing what's happening to Percy and the others.

It's amazing, really, how fast the mood can change here. One second we're screaming ourselves hoarse with joy, and the next we're all exchanging bleak glances, blood freezing in our veins as we sit here with no way of knowing if our fellow campers are dead or alive.

* * *

**Author's Note: I promise that I will most likely never reference Justin Beiber in this story again. **

**Reviews are appreciated.**


	9. I Take a Stroll Down Memory Lane

**MAIN TITLE: The Keeper of Fate**

**WARNINGS: See first chapter for warnings. **

**NOTES: Thanks to **Iiidog5**, **Neela4232**, **MeganLeBlanc**, **Mia lovely**, **Queen Alexandera's Birdwing**, **Guest**, **blackhawk68**, **PurpleandBlackPandas **and **fearless0601** for reviewing this chapter!**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own PJO. Rick Riordan does. Oh, and the prank Dess is planning on Cheryl, I got it from chapter 40 of the ****_Twilight_**** fanfiction 'Meyer University'.**

* * *

**Chapter 9: I Take a Stroll Down Excessively Painful Memory Lane**

The next three hours are absolute torture. As soon as we come to the realization that Jackson and the others could die at any moment and we wouldn't know, everyone starts yelling and complaining all at once. It's sheer mayhem.

Malcolm, who is smart/observant enough to figure out why Luke went totally psycho and slashed the fountain in two, glares at me accusingly and tells me off for provoking Luke. Gareth and Jake immediately rise to my defense (not that I need their help), which in turn sets off the rest of the Athena cabin.

This starts a miniature war (food fight) between the children of the wisdom goddess and the two sons of the fire god. Zeth, Beckendorf and I get involved when Malcolm throws broccoli at Jake. I mean, chocolate pudding, sure, but icky, green, _healthy_ vegetables? That's just going way too far.

Instantly, the other cabins take sides. Ares and Hermes decide to back the epically awesome Hephaestus cabin, while Demeter, Dionysus, and Aphrodite all choose Athena (which I admit is usually the smart thing to do). The satyrs and the tree nymphs scramble around madly, trying to get us to stop, but we ignore them.

After several minutes of complete and utter chaos, an Apollo girl finally decides she's had enough.

"Would you guys just _stop it?_ Percy, Annabeth, and Grover could be _dying_ right now, and you're all acting like children!" It's the same girl who was flirting with Castor. And, I now realize, the same girl who made some rude comment about Tyson when he first showed up.

My temper flares. "And what about Tyson, huh? What, it doesn't matter if anything happens to him, just because he's a Cyclops?"

Her response is immediate. "Oh, that's rich, coming from you. You were scared of him too, when he first got here."

"Yeah, she was scared of him. We all were." Pollux stops trying to shove a loaf of bread down Connor Stoll's throat and instead addresses the Apollo girl: "But she was never _cruel_ to him, not like you were. And once she realized that he wouldn't hurt a fly, she was fine with him, which is a lot more than can be said for _you._"

Castor, of course, is her knight in shining armour. "Hey, now, that was uncalled for, bro. I'm sure Bridgette didn't mean it the way it sounded."

Pollux shoots him a betrayed look. "She meant it exactly the way it sounded! Why are you always defending her lately? Why do you always pick her side over mine? What, some random girl who's a bitch half the time suddenly means more to you than your own brother?"

"She's _not_ a bitch. And I always take her side because she's always right, while you're always being a jerk! You just can't handle the fact that I like spending time with her more than I like spending time with you!" Castor shouts, but as soon as the words are out of his mouth, he turns pale.

Oh crap, what have I done? _This_ is why I should keep my mouth shut. Pollux and Castor almost _never_ fight. But on the other hand, these accusations can't be coming from nowhere. The twins have obviously been keeping them bottled up inside for a while now, and maybe it's better if they let it all out.

I take a second glance at Pollux face. If he looked hurt and betrayed before, it was nothing compared to how he looks now. I also notice that Fiona seems to be on the verge of tears, which is to be expected, I guess. The guy she's liked for who knows how long pretty much just declared that he liked Br–something or other in front of the whole camp (well, not the whole camp; just the people that haven't gotten stabbed/maimed/grievously injured in the last few days).

"Bro, I didn't mean…" Castor trails off, not knowing what to say. No one is throwing food anymore.

"Yes, you did." Pollux turns away from him.

Mr. D wipes the remains of tonight's tomato soup off his face. At first he tried to get us to sit down and shut up, but after I accidentally-on-purpose knocked him into a plateful of spaghetti as I ran passed, he gave up and instead focused on getting revenge (which he failed at miserably). Now, though, he glances warily back and forth between his blond sons. He opens his mouth to speak, but Lee Fletcher beats him to it.

"Look, I get that this is really awkward, and I agree that my sister was out of line and that she's said some pretty mean stuff to Tyson, but she's right about one thing: you're all being ridiculous."

Mark glowers at him. "Stop acting like you're so much better than the rest of us, Fletcher. You participated in this food fight, too–"

"No, he didn't," Bridgette speaks up again. "None of the Apollo kids did, and you know why?" When know one answers, she continues, "Because we're all so exhausted from healing the rest of you whenever you get injured. Isn't it bad enough that we're always fighting monsters? Do you guys have to fight each other, too?"

Several people look down at the floor, uncomfortable. I feel ashamed, too, because she's right. We've had food fights at camp before, of course, but never like this one. This wasn't a good-natured battle between a few campers to settle something trivial like which cabin has kitchen patrol next week. This was all of us, taking our frustrations and anxieties and worries out on each other because we feel so, _so_ helpless and we don't know what else to do.

Malcolm looks at me and says, very quietly, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. You were right, after all." It's difficult for me to admit this, and my words sound forced. But Malcolm gives me a small smile anyway, to show that he's grateful that I at least made the effort.

And then suddenly everyone's apologizing, and Bridgette's coming over to make sure there's no hard feelings, and then I'm walking up to Mr. D to tell him that, though it was a complete and total accident, I'm very, _very_ sorry that I got tomato sauce on his favourite shirt (which has the words 'Death to Blinky' on it). Surprisingly, he doesn't incinerate me.

Instead, he tells the campers to clean up the mess and get the heck out (I choose not to point out the fact that we can't '_get the heck out_' because we're already outside). We obey, wiping chocolate pudding off the tables and sweeping broccoli into the garbage where it, like all green, healthy foods, belongs. Even the satyrs and the tree nymphs help us, though they didn't participate in making the mess in the first place.

I grimace when I realize that Pollux and Castor still aren't speaking. Earlier, after Bridgette and I exchanged honest _I'm sorry's_ and slightly less sincere _I forgive you's_, Pollux pulled the blond (is it just me, or is everybody in this camp blond?) girl aside to apologize. Apparently, that isn't enough for Castor. He's still angry at Pollux–or maybe it's the other way around.

Finally, after the pavilion is practically spotless, Mr. D gets up off his lazy behind, stretches, and sees that the mess hall is, well, mess-free. Then he declares that we've done a decent job, all thanks to his unsurpassable leadership skills and his indispensable guidance. What a bas–but somehow I'm too tired to finish the thought. It is a sad, sad day when I'm too weary to insult the wine god.

In fact, everyone's tired, so we skip the campfire tonight. We all head back to our cabins and yet, as exhausted as we all are, none of us are going end up going to sleep anytime soon. We're all too tense.

At last, my brothers and I reach cabin nine. As I pull open the door, we all exchange brief, awkward glances. None of us are that great at dealing with difficult situations, something we all inherited from Dad. Zeth, Beckendorf, and Jake hurry over to their dinosaur-age literature, mechanical blueprints, and 'manly' toy-race-cars-that-look-like-they're-for-five-year-olds, respectively.

I expect Gareth to immediately rush off to join Beckendorf with the plans for the catapult (since the cannon actually worked, the boys have been looking into the more traditional long-ranged projectile). Instead, Gareth puts an arm around my shoulders and mutters, "Wasn't your fault. Anybody tries to tell you otherwise, I'll grind them into demigod powder."

Despite his words, he looks a little uncomfortable, because we're all children of Hephaestus and we usually don't know how to handle social interactions, let alone social interactions with girls who look like they're about to cry. But he smiles when he sees my lips curve upward. He kisses the top of my head in a brotherly way and then releases me.

While he walks over to Beckendorf, I flop onto my bed, reach under my pillow, and pull out the anklet I'm currently forging. I don't feel like working on it right now, but the cool metal feels good against my skin. I twirl the silver links between my fingers and wonder what the heck I'm going to do for the rest of the night.

Maybe I'll take that blood red wig the Stoll brothers gave me (in exchange for a few golden drachmas, of course) and sneak into the Aphrodite cabin. I'll put the fake hair on Cheryl's pillow and when she wakes up tomorrow morning and sees it lying there, she'll think it's her own. She'll have a panic attack and shriek about her precious, silky locks for five minutes straight. Then she'll end up accusing her cabin mates of shaving off all her hair while she was sleeping and she'll rage and storm at them for another five minutes, long enough for someone to inform me of what's going on so I can take Gardner's camera and film it. Her face when she realizes that her hair is, in fact, still firmly attached to her head will be absolutely priceless.

All in all, a brilliant plan if I do say so myself (even thought it's really not that brilliant). There are just a couple of problems: one, no one is going to appreciate a practical joke after what's happened (except for maybe the children of Hermes); and two, Cheryl's probably going to stay up all night so I won't be able to sneak in without her noticing. Right then. So no wig. Maybe tomorrow night.

Ugh. I'll probably just be sitting here all night, fingering this anklet, alone with my thoughts. If there's one thing I hate, it's being left alone for extended periods of time with nothing to do but think about things that I don't want to think about. Like what happened earlier with Luke, for instance. On the other hand, though, it's supposedly not healthy to keeps these things bottled up inside. But I can't talk to my siblings about this, and the only other person here is you.

…Wait a second. I think I'm having a brainwave here. I promised you before that I would tell you about Luke and I, right? I mean, when I told you that I was sort intending to find an excuse to get out of talking to you about it, but now I think I _need_ to talk about it. So I guess you're stuck being my therapist. Ha. Sucker. You've never heard my mental rants about ex-boyfriends, have you? Well, you're really in for it now. You really should've booked it when you had the chance. And believe me, you've had plenty of chances.

I suppose I should start at the beginning. Not the very, _very_ beginning, of course. That would take forever. And it would hurt. A lot. It was bad enough when I wasn't even thinking about it. It was bad enough when I didn't have the image of his murderous face and his cruel smile burned into my memory. It was bad enough when I wasn't constantly flipping between the memory of that face and the memory of the face of the boy he used to be. But now it hurts twice as much, and the longer I talk to you about him, the more it's going to hurt me. So maybe I should just start with when Luke and I first got together.

Now, I'd like to say that I don't remember the exact details, that I don't remember exactly how it happened. I wish I could tell you that I never cared enough about him to remember almost every last moment with him, sitting by the creek or watching him train in the Arena. But memories don't fade just because you want them to. To be honest, it seems to me like the more I try to push them away, the tighter they hold on, clinging to me like a second skin so that I can't remember who I am without them.

* * *

_"Luke, this is so damn stupid," I complain, stopping in my tracks as I finally see where he's been leading me without my knowledge. _

_"So you've told me. At least fifty times in the last ten minutes, I might add." He smiles at me good-naturedly, so I know he isn't actually annoyed. Luke slings an arm around my shoulders and starts walking forward, pulling me with him. I resist, digging my heels into the ground._

_"Dess," Luke says, now sounding a little exasperated, "if you really think that I'm going to let you wimp out, then–"_

_"Excuse me?" I wrench my shoulders out of his grasp. "I am _not_ 'wimping out'. I never even agreed to this in the first place. You kidnapped me."_

_"Kidnapped?" he scoffs. "Please, you were more than willing to come with me half an hour ago."_

_"That's because I didn't know you were taking me to ride a Pegasus. You just said you had a surprise for me."_

_He sneers at me. "So you _are_ afraid, then."_

_"I'm not!"_

_"Come on, Dess, you're seventeen! You gonna be afraid of flying all your life? Live a little!" He grins at me and meets my eyes, challenging me._

_There it is again. We're friends, that's all. I'd even go as far as to say he's my _best_ friend, though I know I'm not his. And that's really all I want. Friendship. He's gorgeous, of course, and I know that. But looks aren't everything, so I can ignore them most of the time._

_Except that sometimes, like right now, he'll look at me in _that way_. As though he's never seen anything quite like me before, but somehow he still likes what he sees. And I'll stare right back; I'll stare right into his blue, blue eyes, and suddenly it'll be so hard to breathe. Not in the 'he-takes-my-breath-away' kind of way; it's more like I'm holding up something extremely heavy, like the tension between us is weighing me down._

_That canNOT be healthy._

_The second tick by and we continue to stare at each other. The grin on his face vanishes quickly, replaced by that strange intensity that somehow pins me in place while simultaneously filling me with a desire to bolt. I draw in a shaky breath and take a step back. The movement causes a lock of my hair to shift forward slightly._

_Luke takes a step toward me and tucks the strands behind my ear with his right hand, the way he always does whenever a stray lock falls out of place. And as always, his hand lingers just a little bit too long, brushing against my cheek, sliding down my arm, and then finally stopping to curl around my hip. _

_The feeling that I'm being crushed doesn't just fade; it's entirely replaced by a sense of weightlessness. My skin grows warm where he's touched me. He pulls me forward. He leans in, his face so close that I can feel his breath on my ear._

_"There's nothing like flying," he says softly. "Just you and the open air, everything you are left behind on the ground. No worries, no gravity."_

_"Unless you fall off, plummet to the earth, break your neck, and die."_

_He laughs quietly. "Like I'd ever let you fall."_

_He releases me and steps back. Then he turns and starts to stroll over to the stables. The weightlessness drains away, but at least I don't feel like someone is pushing me into the ground._

_"You coming?" Luke calls over his shoulder. He doesn't wait for an answer, instead disappearing through the doorway._

_I follow._

_To make a long story short, it's an absolute disaster. The second I gather all my nerve and actually get on the horse, it throws me off its back. That should've been enough to send me running. But of course, I let Luke talk me into trying again. That's definitely the last time I listen to him. What does he know about Pegasi, anyway? He's an expert on swords, not flying mules. Not that I would ever call them that out loud. They'd trample me to death._

_So anyways, I get back on, the Pegasus kicks off from the ground, Luke flies a short distance behind me to make sure I'm doing okay, and for a couple of minutes everything is fine. Then the wind picks up. _

_I'd rather not think about exactly what happened, but I basically ended up falling ten metres, which Annabeth told me usually isn't a high enough drop to kill even a regular mortal, let alone a half-blood. Still, the impact really, _really _hurts._

_I lay on the ground for a few seconds before Luke swoops down with his Pegasus, dismounts gracefully enough to make me envious, and runs over to me._

_"Okay. So that obviously wasn't supposed to happen. I'm sorry. But don't even try to bullshit me into thinking you're severely injured." Luke states this all very calmly._

_"You are such a–" I let out a string of swear words that are not at all appropriate._

_"See? I knew you were all right." Luke doesn't even flinch when I glare at him._

_"You son of a–You said you wouldn't let me fall."_

_He turns away. "I know. I'm sorry," he repeats quietly. Disbelief floods me when I hear his voice break._

_"Oh. Well, uh, I'm okay, so…no harm done, right?" Suddenly I'm totally okay with the fact that he let me fall ten metres. I just want to erase the expression of misery, of pain and guilt, that is present on the side of his face that I can see (and probably on the other side, too). _

_"Sure. I guess. You don't need to go the infirmary, do you?" He turns toward me again and looks me over, searching for any injuries he might have missed in his first quick examination._

_"Nah. You know me. Over-dramatizing everything."_

_He smiles, his scar rippling across his face, and offers me his hand. I take it, and as that strange sense of release floods me once again I realize that I really don't need to get on a flying horse to escape gravity._

_He helps me to my feet and I stumble just a little. He puts his arm around my shoulders for the second time that day, and even after I find my balance I don't pull away._

_We wander aimlessly for a while, and then Luke, the idiot, decides it's a good idea to suggest I try flying again sometime._

_"Luke, you're such an idiot."_

_"You've used that insult already, Dess. Usually with the F-word accompanying it." He grins at me easily, totally relaxed now. "If you're looking for someone to blame, try Zeus. He's the Lord of the Skies, not me."_

_"Yeah, but aren't there like, fifty wind gods or something?" I question._

_"King of the gods, minor wind gods, what's the difference? They're all guilty of something. They're all corrupt." His voice sounds a little bitter now; unease seeps through me as I wonder just how deep that bitterness goes._

_He does this every so often. It bothers me when he talks about the gods this way. I know the whole 'my-dad-left-me-alone-with-my-psycho-mother-for-nine-years-until-I-ran-away' thing (don't mention that to anyone, by the way; less than a handful of people at camp know, he hates talking about it) really messed him up, and I know it made him angry. I don't blame him. Compared to what he's been through, my childhood was a walk in the park._

_Attempting to steer us to a lighter topic, I tease, "Yeah, but they're not the ones who kidnapped me and goaded me into doing something that scares the Hades out of me in the first place."_

_"So you _were_ scared, after all." He smirks at me. I resist the urge to smack him._

_"I wasn't!" I rip away from him and place myself directly in front of the blond son of Hermes._

_"You just said you were."_

_"No I didn't. I was just trying to get you to shut up about the gods, 'cause you sounded really creepy and resentful, and _damn it_! I fell _ten metres_ because you stuck me on that _stupid_ flying pack mule, and–"_

_He cuts me off with his lips. His right hand holds my face to his and his left hand tangles itself in my hair. He tastes like those gingerbread houses that people make at Christmas time, like the ones my classmates from elementary school used to bring in just before the winter holidays started. After a few moments he pulls away and lets his arms fall to his sides._

_"I have explored," he begins, the breathlessness in his voice ruining his attempts to sounds snobbish, "a _lot_ of methods to try and get you to shut up. And I have to say, this one is by far the best."_

_"What's that supposed to mean? Are you saying you only did that to get me to–"_

_He doesn't let me finish. Instead, he takes my face in his hands and pulls me in for another kiss._

* * *

So yeah. That's how it happened. It was totally and completely unexpected. One second I was entirely convinced that we were just friends, and the next he was kissing me. Just in case you were wondering, I didn't always argue with him that much; it was just that I didn't like Pegasi.

Anyways, after that we–

There's a sudden pounding on the door. My brothers and I all jump up, instantly sure that the barrier created by Thalia's (now dying) tree has unwillingly let in yet another holy terror. We all grab the nearest weapon and Zeth lunges forward to open the door.

We're expecting some panicked camper with a bloodied arm. Instead, Travis Stoll's excited face appears, and he shouts, "_They're back_! They did it! They got the Fleece! And they're all _back_! Chiron is back! Percy and Annabeth and Grover and Tyson and unfortunately Clarisse are back!"

I'm too filled with relief to get angry over that comment about Clarisse.

"Where are–" Jake starts.

"They're by the pine tree!" Travis interrupts. "Now let's go, _let's go_!"

So we do. We run up the hill with all the other campers and form a mob around the tree. Clarisse walks forward, proudly bearing the Golden Fleece. Chiron is there, and Mr. D is informing him that as soon as all this 'saving-the-camp' garbage is done, the centaur will be back to work, taking care of those "miserable little brats". Chiron smiles at all of the campers fondly and replies, "There's nothing I'd enjoy more." Grover is being pulled into a hug by Juniper. I snicker when I see him blush, but I have to admit it's nice to see him. Annabeth, Tyson, and Percy are standing in the background, unnoticed by most.

Clarisse bestows the Golden Fleece on the lowest branch of the tree. Instantly, the world seems to brighten, like colour and sound and _life_ are rushing into Thalia's pine, into all of us. The needles on Thalia's tree slowly turn green.

And then, for the second time that day, we're cheering ourselves hoarse.

* * *

**Author's Note: I'm not entirely sure if all that stuff I said about falling twenty metres (which is approximately 65 feet) is true; it's just stuff I found on the Internet. For all I know, a twenty metre drop could be deadly. So don't try it at home.**

**Edit****: I changed twenty metres to ten, because, as my brother has just informed me, people cannot reliably survive a twenty metre fall. He told me even ten metres would probably break a person's legs, but since Dess is a half-blood, I figure she's a bit more durable than that. But either way, you still shouldn't try this at home.**


	10. Morpheus Moves Up on My Hit List

**MAIN TITLE: The Keeper of Fate**

**WARNINGS: See first chapter for warnings.**

**NOTES: Thanks to **Neela4232 **and **Lygerastia** for reviewing this chapter!**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own the PJO series. Rick Riordan does.**

* * *

**Chapter 10: Morpheus Moves Up on My Hit List**

As it turns out, we do end up going to the campfire tonight. It's pretty late, but suddenly we're all too hyped up to sleep. So we sit around the flames and the Stolls tell us stories that they deem to be scary. The party ponies aren't paying any attention to the sons of Hermes; instead they're pestering Mr. D for details on all the wild parties he's been too. He looks like he's going to snap and vaporize them all at any moment, but that doesn't discourage them.

Chiron is behaving very differently than his fellow centaurs; it's nice to see him roasting marshmallows for his precious s'mores. Meanwhile, Grover is shoving tin cans into his mouth at lightning speed, occasionally looking up at the night sky like he's never seen anything so beautiful before in his life. Which makes sense, considering he was trapped in a cave for so long.

On either side of the satyr are Percy and Annabeth, both of whom also look delighted to be back at camp. Despite the fact that they did as much, if not more, in retrieving the Fleece then Clarisse did, they don't get any recognition. They don't get lifted up onto people's shoulders or get honoured with laurel wreaths. But I suppose leaving all the glory to Clarisse is a better option than getting turned into shrubs by Dionysus.

And speaking of Clarisse, she's walking up behind the son of Poseidon. I watch her warily, half expecting her to pull out a sword and behead him. But she just shoves him and whispers something–I'm guessing it's not sweet nothings–in his ear. He smiles at her reluctantly, like he just can't help himself. Then he turns back to the flames.

Clarisse, looking slightly irritated, goes to sit with Isabel. I think she's asking the younger girl something, but Isabel just gives her sister the wide eyes and bright smile combo that she has perfected. Seeming a little suspicious and skeptical, Clarisse persists with her questioning and receives only a vigorous nod in return. Looking extremely unwilling, the brunette lets the matter drop. Then she glances around the circle, until finally her eyes come to rest on me.

I grin back at her and she rolls her eyes. Clapping Isabel on the back, she comes over to me and promptly says, "Move your sweater. I'm sitting here."

I obey, placing the yellow hoodie between Jake and me. The boys are going on about some TV show they used to watch (something about rangers and power) so I've been pretty much ignoring them for the last ten minutes.

Clarisse plops down beside me and says, "So I was talking to Isabel." I give her a 'yeah-that-was-kind-of-obvious-I'm-not-blind-you-know' look and, after glaring at me briefly, she continues, "And I was asking Isabel about how the guys treated her while I was gone."

"And? What did she say?" But I have a feeling I already know.

"Nothing. You know her. She just gave me the 'I'm-so-innocent' expression and didn't say anything. So I asked her if they were good to her, and she just nodded. I figured I wouldn't get anything out of her, so now _you_ are going to tell me how things went."

I'm dying to argue with her, just to make her mad, but since this is about Isabel…

"So what are you going to do to them?" I ask her, after I've given her a list of all the people who have insulted/picked on/hurt her little sister in her absence.

"Do? Oh, nothing, of course. I mean, it's not like I would cut off their fingers or anything. That would be against the rules." Her grin is so creepy that I scoot away from her.

She rolls her eyes at me again, which makes me smile because I kind of missed how she used to do that all the time. "Don't be such a wimp. Tell me about all the pranks you pulled on Brookes while I was gone. And there had better be a lot."

"Oh, there are," I assure her.

I tell her all about them for a few minutes, and, by some miracle, she doesn't interrupt me 'til halfway through my enthusiastic retelling of the sixth prank I pulled on Cheryl.

"–and there was this one time where I took a rubber snake and–"

"Hold up a sec."

She narrows her eyes at Sherman, who is grabbing the stick Isabel was using to spear a marshmallow. Clarisse stalks over to Sherman, looking ready to pulverize him. I notice, however, that he's just showing his little sister how to roast the marshmallow exactly right. Huh. Maybe he does feel bad about _the incident_. Which you already know about, so there's no point in me calling it _the incident_. Whatever. It's just more dramatic.

I glance away from the war god's children and catch Tyson's eye. And by eye, I actually do mean one eye. He grins at me with crooked teeth and I smile back. I can't believe I was actually afraid of him before. He's such a softie. Tyson spent a lot of time in the forges, tinkering with bits of metal and wires, so by default he spent a lot of time with my brothers and me. I used to bring him jars of peanut butter so he could snack while he worked.

Tyson turns back to his half-brother and starts chattering at him excitedly. Percy laughs and nods and smiles fondly at the Cyclops. Then he leans around Grover to poke Annabeth in the back. She pretends to be murderously angry and, using her index finger, makes a gesture that looks like she's slitting her own throat. Her mock glare is so threatening that Percy holds up his hands apologetically.

I leave them to have their little moment. I look back at the fire and as I stare into the flames, I'm reminded of three years ago. I remember how I was so aware of Apollo's note in my pocket, like it was burning my skin through the fabric of my jeans. I remember how I let Apollo's words reassure me. _It's all right, don't worry, you have another two years…_ That's what I told myself. But two years came and went. No prophecy-defying took place at all. Instead I just woke up one day, once again clutching a note from Apollo…

_Strike one, missed your chance;_

_Wait a year and try again._

_You've got two more shots._

That was all it said. Well, that and the request to make a Hunter's bow. So I messed up, I let my opportunity to change things pass me by. What opportunity was that? I don't think I'm ready to tell you. In case you haven't figured it out, whenever I say stuff like that it's usually because it has something to do with Luke.

But anyways, exhaustion eventually catches up with all of us. Chiron tells us to go to bed. Any protests from the campers are punctuated by yawns from Mr. D's twins (who have apparently forgiven each other).

So tired. I shuffle along behind my brothers and fight my drooping eyelids. The next thing I know I'm standing beside my bed. I stare at it for a second.

"You all right, Dess?" Jake asks.

"Sure. I'm just fi–" I'm halfway through the last word when, without further ado, I collapse onto the mattress. I'm already half-asleep by the time my brothers manage to put my blankets over me.

You know, I probably should have just explained the whole 'I-missed-an-opportunity-damn-I-really-messed-up-this-time' thing earlier. Because even if I don't, my dreams–or nightmares–will tell you anyways.

* * *

_I wander through the forest, trying to make sense of everything that's happened in the last few hours. I feel so lost, and not because I took a random turn a few minutes ago and ended up on some dirt path that I've never even seen before._

_It seems like the pain I'm feeling is so intense that I shouldn't be able to see through it, to think through it, to breathe through it. But my eyes still take in the image of green on grey; moss on rocks. Thoughts still buzz around my head like angry bees, hurting me more than actual bee stings ever could. And air still fills my lungs, still gives me oxygen, still keeps my heart beating rhythmically in my chest._

_I hate this. I_ _hate_ him_. _

_Except that I don't hate him; I could never hate him. I want to. I'm supposed to. _

_But I can't._

Maybe he didn't do it,_ I think desperately. _Maybe Percy was lying; maybe he staged the whole thing and he's the real lightening thief.

_But I know better than that. Gareth was the one who saw him being dragged into the clearing by two tree nymphs. Gareth was the one who shouted for help because Percy was _dying_. And Gareth told me how the kid's hand was red and how it had yellow guck all over it. How his face was pale as chalk. There's no way Percy could have faked that._

_And anyways, Annabeth believes him. She was friends with Luke for years; Luke was _everything_ to her. He was the only person at camp who knew Thalia like she did. He was the only one who could talk to her about the daughter of Zeus, reminisce about the good old days when it was just the three of them on the run, a family… But when Percy told her and Chiron what Luke had done, she didn't doubt the son of Poseidon._

_And as I think of how Luke sometimes got so bitter, how he would sometimes have shadows under his eyes like his dreams had been plagued by horrors beyond imagining, how he was so jumpy on the way back from the trip to Olympus, I realize that I don't doubt Percy, either._

_I'm just making excuses, looking for someone to blame, because I can't believe that I didn't see this coming. And maybe…maybe the reason I didn't see it coming was because I didn't _want _to see it. I didn't want to believe it._

_How could Luke just turn his back on everything and everyone? On his father and this camp and Annabeth and Thalia and–and me. _

_I don't want to think about this anymore. I just want to go to sleep, to escape this pain. But I can't. I'm lost. I'm so, _so_ lost._

_Just as I think this, I stumble upon the creek. I recognize this place. This is where Luke and I used to go all the time. He would grab a couple of Cokes from his secret stash and we would sit on the large rock that would always be in the shade no matter what time of day it was._

_Sometimes we would talk; sometimes we would just sit there in complete silence, just enjoying each other's company; sometimes we would get a little, um, _carried away,_ if you know what I mean. And if you don't, then I'm not going to tell you. Your innocent little ears don't need to hear about all my late night rendezvous (that's supposed to be plural, obviously) with Luke. The details aren't exactly what one would call 'appropriate'. _

Anyways_, the point is that I recognize this place. And it's more than just where Luke and I would have our 'lover's trysts', as Cheryl likes to call them (I don't like to call them that, though; the word 'tryst' makes me want to puke); this is also the place where that hellhound attacked Percy._

_It was right after the Capture the Flag game; Luke's team won because Clarisse ran off to get revenge when she and the other Ares kids _should_ have been trying to take the enemy flag or at least defend our team's flag. Anyways, Luke managed to get the flag back to his side (though I'm very proud to say that I got a hit in with my sword before an Apollo guy–Will Solace?–stepped in) and then of course everyone on the blue (red is _so _much cooler, by the way) team started cheering._

_But he must've already called the hellhound by that point. He must've already ordered it to attack Percy. That thing could've killed the black-haired kid. But Luke didn't look guilty or uneasy when his teammates lifted him onto their shoulders. And when they put him down and I stomped over to him to complain about how he'd totally cheated (even though he really hadn't), he just smiled and laughed and pulled me in for a kiss._

_He didn't show any sign of remorse. Or at least, no sign that I could see. But maybe that's because I wasn't looking for it?_

_Ugh. My head hurts from thinking about all this. Which is good, in a way, because it stops me from thinking about how much the rest of me hurts. I know where I am now; I'll just take the most familiar route back to camp, and then I'll go to sleep and the pain will stop…_

_"Dess."_

_I freeze at the sound of his voice. Then I whirl around in shock. I'm ashamed to admit it, but the first thing I feel isn't anger. It's relief. Hope. _He's okay,_ I tell myself. _Maybe he's even changed his mind about working for Kronos.

_He steps out of the shadows, just like he did two years ago when I first met him. Maybe it's the fact that his face is now more familiar to me than my own, or maybe it's the fact that a few seconds ago I thought I would never see it again, or maybe it's just the fact that he's older, but somehow he's even more good-looking now. Did I really once think that Apollo was more gorgeous than the son of Hermes that's standing before me?_

_He stares at me with those blue eyes. "I knew you'd come here. I've been waiting for you."_

_I should draw my sword. I should scream for help. But I'm frozen._

_He strides towards me and then stops just a few metres away. I somehow manage to pry my lips apart and make use of my vocal chords. _

_"Wh–why were you waiting for me?" I stumble over the first word. My voice sounds so small._

_He takes another step forward. "Come on, Dess, did you really think I'd just leave you here? I've been waiting for you because I want you to come with me."_

_I stare at him blankly. "Come with you? Come with you where?"_

_He rolls his eyes and his lips turn upwards slightly at the corners, the way they always do when I'm being exasperating and endearing at the same time._

_"Where do you think?" he asks patiently._

_My head is spinning. Where else would we go but here? This is our home. Camp Half-Blood. Right here, this small clearing with tall trees and water rushing over rocks and memories of his voice whispering in my ear and his arms around me._

_"I–I don't–" I stammer._

_"I know what you're thinking, Dess. But this place isn't home. I don't belong here, and neither do you."_

_That gets my attention, sparks anger in me. "What do you mean I don't belong here? Of course I do."_

_"No." He shakes his head. "You belong with _me_." He says the words with such confidence. He sounds so sure._

_And he's right. I do belong with him. I love him. He's everything to me._

_I take a step closer to him, and then another. He's only a metre away now. I'm about to take another step, but then a face fills my mind._

_Jake._

_My little brother. Only two hours ago he had his arms wrapped around me, and he told me it would be okay and that Luke was a big jerk but he'd come around, and somehow we would find a way to stop Kronos._

_Because that's the right thing to do. Kronos is bad. Kronos is evil. He tortures, he manipulates, he kills._

_I stop walking. "If you think," I say slowly, "that I'm going to go join Kronos' little vengeance-seeking brigade, than you're _mad_."_

_He jerks back in surprise like he can't believe that I'm refusing to come with him._

_"Dess, I think you've got the wrong impression of Kronos…and of me." He smiles, but it's not his usual easygoing grin. His smile is indulgent, condescending. His tone is patronizing._

_Rage floods through me. "The _wrong impression_? You set a poisonous scorpion on Percy Jackson and left him there to die! You almost caused a war between the gods! You almost destroyed civilization!"_

_His laughter shocks me. He sounds almost…relieved?_

_"Dess, you really _do_ have it all wrong." His smile is more real this time. "I don't want to _destroy_ civilization. That's not Kronos' goal."_

_Seething, I ask, "Oh yeah? Then what _is _his goal?"_

_"To bring down the gods," Luke answers, his voice low. He stares at me, but the intensity in his eyes isn't the same as it was even yesterday. It's not an energy-filled intensity, created by the overwhelming tension between us. It's a maniacal, almost violent intensity. He looks power-crazed._

_"How will that solve anything? Civilization _depends _on the gods, idiot! The world will fall apart without them–"_

_He interrupts me, his eyes lit up not with joy, the way they were the first time I told him I loved him, but instead with a sort of mad, hungry light: "Don't you see, Dess? Those are lies the gods feed us. They try to poison our minds, to make us think that we need them, and we don't! The world would be better off without them! Civilization wouldn't fall apart; it would be strengthened. There would be peace and justice and no more corruption. What have the gods ever done for us, Dess? My father left me with my mother, knowing what she was like, and your father did the same!"_

_He closes the distance between us and says softly, his breath warm on my face, "Dess. You know. You _know_ that it's your father's fault that you grew up with that pathetic excuse for a human being. Think of all those nights you spent half-starving."_

_My anger drains away, though I'm sure it's still there in my face. But I don't throw my arms around him or take his hand and declare that of course I'll go with him, I'd follow him to ends of the earth. Instead I stare up at him, hurt._

_Because he's the only person I've ever told those things too. No one else knows what my mother did to me. I trusted him with everything, with all of my secrets, with all of me. And now he's using that against me, trying to get me to join not him, but his cause. He only wants another soldier. He doesn't want _me_. _

_I search his gaze, trying to see any hint of love there. Because he couldn't just make it all up. I was so sure. So certain. He loves me. I know he does, he's told me so _so many times_…_

_And then my angry mask is crumbling; all the walls are coming down. Because I can't lose him. I can't accept the fact that maybe I never really had him to begin with. _

_"Luke," I say, and my voice sounds wild with panic. "Luke, you can't do this, this is crazy, this is insane, please. _Please._" But if anyone sounds crazy and insane, it's me. I'm half choking on my words._

_He stares at me with a fathomless expression and I continue, pleading, almost begging: "Luke, forget about Kronos. Come back to the Big House with me. We'll figure out something to tell Chiron. He'll forgive you. Annabeth will help us, you know she will, she loves you, _I love you_." _

_He starts at the last three words. Just for an instant, I see relief and uncertainty in his eyes, like he thought maybe I didn't care about him anymore. But even as I watch, those emotions fade. _

_He smiles slyly, his eyes gleaming wickedly. "Dess." He moves even closer, placing his hand on either side of my waist to pull me forward so that I'm pressed up against him. He buries his face in my hair. "Dess, you know I love you, too. I just want to be with you," he murmurs in my ear, his tone persuasive. _

_He pulls away and brushes my hair back. He kisses my temple softly. His eyes bore into mine, but that's okay because his hands are on me and his touch is making me weightless._

_His eyes search mine. "Is that really so wrong?"_

_He doesn't wait for my answer. Instead he leans in and kisses me._

_And his kiss is just the same as it's always been; he tastes of ginger bread cookies. His lips are soft and gentle, pulling against mine. His hands are in my hair and then sliding down the sides of my body and then stopping to rest on my hips._

_I run my fingers through his hair, and for a moment all I can feel is him; his hands on me, his lips on mine. For a second I fully comprehend exactly what I'm giving up by choosing to do the right thing. And for a second, for just one short second, I'm not sure doing the right thing is worth losing him._

But you never really had him, did you?_ my mind whispers._ He never really loved you. It was just a game.

_So I push him away and step back. _

_"Leave," I say, and my voice is full of fury. The mask and the walls are reforming; the hurt and the desperation are gone from my face. I know that even without seeing my angry expression reflected in his blue eyes._

_He seems to realize that I mean it. I half wonder if he's going to kill me now that I'm of no use to him, but instead he just starts slowly backing away. I watch him back up into the shadows. Any second now, he's going to turn around and disappear._

_And suddenly I absolutely cannot stand the idea of him being the one to walk away from this. My pride flares, and I undo the clasp of the golden bracelet that he gave me for my birthday a year ago. The movement makes him stop more than my belated "Wait." does._

_I clench the bracelet in my fist for a second and then throw it at his feet. _

_"Here," I tell him. "You can have that back. I don't want it. It means nothing to me now."_

_I turn my back on his frozen face and march down a different path then the one Luke and I always used to take when we came here. I feel like I've triumphed, knowing that _I_ was the one to walk out on _him_. But the feeling doesn't last as long as I thought it would. By the time I've reached my cabin, remorse and regret and _pain_, so much pain, are weighing me down, more so than locking eyes with him ever did._

* * *

I sit up in my bed, gasping for air. That's strange. Just a second ago I was so sure that I couldn't breathe… Then the panic fades as I remember that I was just dreaming. Dreaming of something that actually happened, but still. It's times like this when I really hate Morpheus.

So anyways, now you know. I've never told anyone that Luke came to see me just hours after he almost killed Percy, because I knew that everyone would be angry with me. Especially Clarisse. And Chiron would be disappointed, because I didn't do anything. I walked away. I didn't even make sure that Luke actually left afterwards. For all I knew he could've snuck into one of the cabins and murdered someone.

That was the opportunity that I didn't take. I had my sword. Those moments when he was standing so close to me, when he was kissing me… I could've taken my sword and killed him. He probably would've seen it coming and stopped me, but still. I could have tried.

But I didn't, because as angry as I was, I still loved him. I comfort myself with the knowledge that if I was put in that situation again, I would at least try to fight him or scream for help. Because I don't love him anymore. And don't you dare tell me that it sounds like I'm in denial. I think I would _know_ if I still loved him.

Like Apollo said, though, that was strike one. My brow furrows as I remember that the second line in the haiku told me to try again in a year… It's almost been a year. Did I miss another chance? Was I supposed to sneak out when Percy Jackson did, was I supposed to be on that boat when the Iris-message came?

But if that's the case, surely Apollo would've sent me a note by now. I glance at my hands, half expecting paper to just appear in them. Of course, nothing happens. I take a deep breath and lie down again. I can deal with this later, in the morning or tomorrow or a week from now. I'm still tired. I need sleep.

I pull the covers over my head and close my eyes.

* * *

**Author's Note: Reviews are appreciated.**


	11. The Fleece Throws Us a Curveball

**MAIN TITLE: The Keeper of Fate**

**WARNING: See first chapter for warnings.**

**NOTES: Thanks to **MeganLeBlanc**, **Disabled Profile**, **Queen Alexandera's Birdwing**, **Guest**, **dreamin'BIG** and **angel2u** for reviewing this chapter!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the PJO series. Rick Riordan does. He also owns the dialogue at the end of the chapter, which I took from the last chapter of ****_The Sea of Monsters_****.**

* * *

**Chapter 11: The Fleece Throws Us a Curveball**

For the first time this summer, life is peaceful. There's still someone guarding Thalia's tree at every second of the day, but at least there are no more monster attacks and no more injured campers being dragged into the infirmary. In fact, with the help of Chiron and the other centaurs, many campers are _leaving_ the infirmary almost entirely _un_injured. Well, the centaurs didn't help that much with the actual healing, it was mostly Chiron. Still, they were great for, um, _morale boosts_.

When they finish 'helping', though, they decide it's time for them to take their leave. They were only at camp for one night, but they almost drove Mr. D crazy (which is ironic because Dionysus is the god of madness). So they depart, after supplying the Apollo cabin–and unfortunately the Stoll brothers–with arrows that have boxing gloves on the end. Neither Chiron nor Mr. D is sorry to see them go, though Tyson seems a little put out. Apparently the centaurs were just starting to teach him the rules of paintball.

Chiron surprises everyone by proclaiming that the chariot races are still happening. So everyone gets back to work, rebuilding their chariots and forging weapons and, in the case of the Stoll brothers, scheming up ways to take out the competition during the race without appearing too underhanded. Their real goal, after all, is to make people laugh.

Meanwhile, Gareth once again switches to military officer/evil dictator mode, insisting that we work ourselves into the ground because with Tyson, Percy, _and_ Annabeth all on the same team, we're doomed if we slack off for even an instant. Though I have to agree with him after I catch a sneak peak of their chariot and the javelins Tyson made. Because trust me, Tyson's weapons always kick butt.

* * *

We work hard for the next two day, preparing the chariot itself, mechanical horses with the ability to shoot out steel cables, a command console to control everything, and leather pouches full of Greek fire to blow stuff up (surprisingly leather can contain the volatile green powder, but unfortunately it's not an ideal material for cannon balls).

I help Gareth with the horses. I actually don't mind the animals when they're made of metal and they don't fly. Still, I definitely don't want to be the one sitting in the chariot they're pulling and neither does Gareth, so the job of steering falls on Zeth while Beckendorf defends (and attacks). Jake wants to take one of their places, but frankly I don't trust him in any sort of vehicle, whether he's the one driving or the one throwing explosives around. The rest of my brothers agree, so he just has to settle with helping to program the console while he sulks.

When Gareth and I have done as much with the horses as we possibly can, Beckendorf and Zeth attach them to the chariot and take them out of the Armory to practice. The rest of us all sit a distance away and watch.

It moves beautifully; I watch the horses gallop with such grace that one could almost believe they're real. I think we have a good chance of winning, which is good because I really want us to win. Well, not necessarily _win_, per say, it's more that I want to beat Jackson. …What's that? You want to know why I don't like the kid?

Well, I wish I could tell you it's because he's arrogant and stupid, or because he's technically not supposed to exist (sacred oath that forbids the Big Three from having kids ring any bells?) but it isn't any of those things. He's actually pretty modest most of the time, and he can be intelligent on occasion. The last part is true, of course, but it's also not his fault. And despite the fact that I'm not too fond of him, I do respect him.

But I still haven't answered your question. Okay, it's stupid, but…if it weren't for Jackson, we wouldn't have known who stole the Master Bolt from Zeus. I could've just gone on enjoying my ignorance. I'm sure reality would have eventually slapped me across the face, but I could've been happy for just a little while longer. Of course, maybe that would've just made the pain worse in the end, but somehow it's hard to imagine how it could have possibly hurt _more_.

Or maybe the Master Bolt would've never been retrieved in the first place and Poseidon and Zeus and Hades would've gone to war. Maybe civilization would've just been destroyed altogether.

I sigh and lean back against the tree trunk behind me, ignoring the questioning glances from my brothers.

So now you know why I don't like Jackson. I just can't help but think that maybe ignorance really _is_ bliss. And yeah, that's a stupid reason to dislike someone, but my reason for respecting him is probably even more stupid. The reason I respect him has nothing to with him surviving a trip to the underworld or defeating the war god in battle or even retrieving the Golden Fleece and saving the camp.

I respect Percy because of what he's done for Annabeth. He's saved her life a few times, yes, but he's also…I don't know, revived her faith in humanity? Close enough. I swear she smiles more around him then I've ever seen her smile before. I can just tell that he'll never turn his back on her the way her father and her step mom did. He'll never leave her or abandon her like Thalia unwillingly did, like Luke knowingly and purposely did.

I can see it in the way he'll ask her about architecture and listen to her ridiculously long rants–even though he has no idea what she's saying and her speech bores him to tears–just to watch her face light up. It's in the way he almost always volunteers to go on border patrol with her, not because he thinks she can't handle herself, but instead because he wants to spend as much time with her as he possibly can. It's in the way he'll run headfirst into a fight with monsters ten times his size without any regard for his own life the second he thinks she's in danger (though he hasn't done this recently, because there aren't any monsters attacking anymore…for the most part).

So while I don't agree with the Aphrodite kids when they insist that Percy and Annabeth are in love (Annabeth is only fourteen and Percy is still thirteen, for Zeus' sake!), I'm almost certain that Percy will always be there for her. Almost, because there was a time where I was _absolutely_ certain that _Luke_ would always be there for _me_, and look how that turned out.

I snap out of my thoughts when I hear Zeth make a comment about Beckendorf's crush on Silena. The younger boy retaliates by attempting to shove Zeth out of the chariot with his huge hands. I smile slightly when they nearly capsize, and when Gareth screeches at them to be careful with the equipment. The chariot comes to a halt and the boys jump out.

Muttering under his breath about irresponsible dunces, Gareth leaps into the chariot and urges the horses to bring it to the stables (ha, the Pegasi aren't going to like that). I pick myself up off the grassy ground, trudge back to cabin nine, and open the door, only to hear the conch being blown in the distance. With a groan, I slam the metal door shut and head over to the mess hall with the other campers.

I hope we win the race tomorrow, but more than anything I hope I can somehow let go of my unjustifiable dislike of Percy. Because all it really does is make me wonder if maybe I'm not as over Luke as I like to think I am.

* * *

We lose. That was blunt, I know, but I'm too distraught to break it to you gently. The news that the Hephaestus cabin didn't win had better bring your spirits down at least a little bit, because I'm going to be extremely angry with you if I find out that you were rooting for another team.

I suppose it wasn't that bad. I mean, Jackson knocked Beckendorf out of the chariot and then nearly killed Zeth by throwing a leather pouch with Greek fire in it at him (though to be fair, Beckendorf threw it into Jackson's chariot first), but at least no Stymphalian birds attacked this time.

And I guess Percy and Annabeth made up for it by finally giving Tyson the credit he deserves. It's about time that Jackson publicly recognized Tyson as his brother. Beckendorf, for one, was getting sick of hearing "He's not my brother! We only share half of our DNA, and it doesn't even count because gods don't really _have_ DNA!" all the time.

On the other hand, Annabeth did kiss Percy on the cheek, which will give the Aphrodite kids lots of ammunition for their 'Percy-and-Annabeth-are-madly-in-love-even-though-they've-barely-even-reached-puberty' theory. Oh well. They're the ones that have to deal with the consequences; the only reason I'm mad about it is I bet Cheryl that they wouldn't kiss until Percy was at least fifteen. Cheryl, who is not as dumb as she sometimes seems, cleverly reminded me that I did not specify that the kiss had to be on the lips. Basically, I lost two drachmas. And I have to refrain from pranking her for an entire week. Sob.

Oh well. Things happen; boyfriends turn into evil villains and break your heart, civilization gets threatened, trees get poisoned, you lose chariot races, and, most unfortunately, your arch nemesis gets full bragging rights.

That's just how life goes, I guess.

* * *

The horses pretty much got destroyed, so that afternoon Gareth and the boys lug them back to the Armory so we can fix them. The chariot races are over, of course, but you never know when mechanical horses capable of shooting out steel cables will come in handy.

Beckendorf and I take one horse and the rest of the guys take the other. Beckendorf and I always make a great team; he's super awesome at anything that involves forging (in fact, he's almost _too_ awesome) and I'm absolute crap at it (well, compared to my brothers and Tyson, that is; I'm actually pretty spectacular compared to the rest of the campers). We balance each other out.

Anyways, we manage to heave the thing onto a table (and when I say 'we' I mean Beckendorf). Then we stare down at the ruined horse.

"So, uh, where do we start?" I question. "Not the brain, right? 'Cause then it might come to and try to kill us or something." See, I actually am quite capable.

"Normally, I'd say you were right, but this time… We can see everything that's wrong with the horse on the surface, but the inside wiring is a different story. The only way we'll know what's wrong is to see the thing in action." Beckendorf looks at me apologetically.

Humph. He'd better be apologetic. He totally just crushed my dreams, which involved me not being as hopeless as I think I am.

"Well then, Mr. 'Look-at-me-I'm-magic-with-tools', do your stuff."

He grins, and then obeys.

* * *

"Hand me that screwdriver, will you, Dess? No, no, the other one…"

It's been two hours and we're still going. It's really hot in here so I'm sweating a little. I raise my arm and wipe motor oil off of my cheek with the back of my left hand. We've fixed up the head and the back legs, and the main body (sorry, I don't really know horse terminology; deal with it) doesn't need too much work to begin with. The hind legs, though, are a bit of a problem. And by a bit, I mean one of them shot out and hit Beckendorf in the face. Now he has a hoof-shaped blue and purple mark on the right side of his face, though it's very faint because his dark skin masks it almost completely.

"Right, I've almost got it," he murmurs, using the screwdriver I just gave him to–hmm, let's think–maybe _unscrew a screw_? I mean seriously, what _else _would he do with the thing? Wait, don't answer that.

"And…there, I got it," he crows happily. With huge but somehow still nimble fingers, he removes the panel and starts tinkering with the wires.

"Now, Dess, I need you to–" his words are cut off by the horse's kick. When the metal leg pulls back, Beckendorf is sporting a bruise on the left side of his face that matches the one on the right almost exactly.

"Don't even," my half-brother growls as I start to laugh. It's hard to take him seriously, though; the huge bruises on either side of his face, however faint, make it looks like someone has–very badly–applied very light blue and purple eye shadow to his cheeks (and believe me, I know what I'm talking about).

Once I stifle my laughter, he says, "Now, as I was _about_ to say–" (he throws a resentful glare at the horse) "–I need you to hold down the back legs."

His expression is such that I don't even argue. I hold the cool metal against the flat, also metal table (pretty much everything in here is metal) while Beckendorf once again launches his fingers into the mess of copper and bronze circuitry.

"Need help?"

My head jerks up. "Tyson! Holy Styx, you scared me!"

"Sorry. Didn't mean to." He grins at me toothily and my heart just about melts. He's huge, but when he smiles he looks almost exactly like a little boy begging his mom for just _one more _bedtime story.

"S'okay, Tyson, it was an accident." I smile, but then I look back down at the horse because if I'm not careful, my grip might slip and then Beckendorf will be in for a world of hurt. Again.

"Hey, big guy, what are you doing here, anyway? You come to help us with the horses? Or are you going to build another sword-shattering shield?" Beckendorf's tone is light, teasing, despite the fact that he whined about his broken blade for nearly half an hour. He's not angry, though. Beckendorf and Tyson are good friends; and anyways, it's almost impossible to stay mad at the cheerful Cyclops.

"No. Came to say bye."

My head snaps up so fast that I swear I almost get whiplash.

"Bye? What do you mean '_bye_'?"

"Daddy sent me dream last night. Said I should go underwater and work at forges with the other Cyclopes." He beams.

"Oh, Tyson, that's great…" I let my voice trail off, because I'm sounding gloomier and gloomier by the second. I can't believe he's leaving.

"Yes, it is great," Beckendorf says firmly. Then he pauses in his work for a minute and glances up at Tyson. "But I'm really going to miss you, big guy."

"So am I," I tell him.

"I will miss you both too," he says, and his voice quivers just a little bit. "But I want to make swords and spears and other pointy things for camp."

"And you will." Beckendorf smiles, then starts on the horse again.

"Yeah, you will," I echo. "You'll make great swords and spears and other, er, pointy things."

I feel like I'm going to start crying (not really, though, I rarely ever cry). I knew this was coming. Gareth recognized the Cyclops' talent when he first got here, and he's been pestering Dad to pester Poseidon about sending him to the Cyclopes' forges ever since (and by pestering I mean sending letters through the Hermes cabin, asking him about it when offering up part of his meal at dinner–and breakfast and lunch–, et cetera, et cetera). It's not that he wants Tyson gone; it's just that he thinks the son of Poseidon has a lot of potential, and he doesn't want that potential to be wasted (though to be honest, I think Poseidon would've offered Tyson an internship without being prompted).

"Thanks." Tyson smiles again.

We lapse into silence for a few moments. Beckendorf asks Tyson to pass him the pliers, which he does. Then he asks me to make sure that I'm holding down the horse's hind legs with all of my strength. Meanwhile, Tyson is holding down the front legs.

I can see why my brother is being so cautious; the wire he's about to cut is dangerous. The horse might lash out if we're not careful. This knowledge makes me nervous. In order to distract myself, I ask Tyson, "When are you leaving?" Because he must be leaving soon, if he's already saying goodbye. Maybe he's leaving tomorrow.

"After I say bye to Percy."

"And when are you saying goodbye to Percy?"

"Right after this."

I gasp. "You're leaving _today_?"

Tyson nods. Without thinking, I let go of the mechanical horse's legs and throw my arms around the Cyclops. Tyson releases the front legs and hugs me back.

And then, for the third time today, there's the sound of metal colliding with flesh.

_"DESS!"_

Oops.

* * *

Needless to say, Beckendorf is pissed at me. But he (mostly) forgives me when he sees how miserable I am about Tyson leaving. After helping us fix the horses, Tyson pulls both of us into bone-crushing hugs. He also says goodbye to Gareth, Jake, and Zeth (who is honestly still a little afraid of the Cyclops, though he's fond of him, too).

When the goodbyes are finally over with and I actually have started crying (just a little bit; don't tell anyone, or I WILL hunt you down and cause you serious pain), Tyson glances around the Armory wistfully and at last leaves the forges, presumably to go find Percy and give him a bone-crushing goodbye hug, too.

Next, we head over to the Arena and train. Beckendorf challenges me to a sword fight and promptly kicks my butt, proving that he's not above getting revenge even after he's already (mostly) forgiven people.

Then we head over to the dining pavilion, and after that… Well, actually, nothing exciting happens after that. It looks like the rest of the summer really is going to be peaceful. And boring, but in a good way.

There is one thing that could be classified as interesting, I guess. As I climb into to my bed and try to sleep, a storm rages, unleashing its fury on everything outside the camp's borders. The only time it has ever rained here (that I know of) was last summer, when Zeus and Poseidon were both pissed about having their symbol of power stolen and being accused of being the one to orchestrate the theft of that symbol of power, respectively.

Tonight, though, not even a drop of rain falls within the camp's boundaries. But I can still hear the thunder crashing outside the valley in the distance, and it's a long time before I get to sleep.

* * *

_"Luke? What was Thalia like?"_

_Luke glances up and at the same time ceases all movement with his hands, which were expertly moving an antique sword back and forth across a whetstone in an attempt to polish the worn blade. I can tell from the way his face tightens that the question shocks him. This isn't altogether surprising, considering the fact that I rarely ever ask him about Thalia. He doesn't like to talk about her with anyone, except maybe Annabeth. But he and I have been friends for several months now, and he makes me talk about personal stuff that I don't want to talk about all the time, so I'm technically just evening things out._

_And besides, I'm curious…_

_"I–" For a second I think he's going to refuse. He looks down at his now clenched fists and then meets my expectant (and slightly impatient) gaze. He gently sets the sword on the ground._

_"What was she like?" he repeats the question, and when I nod he takes a deep breath and says, "Thalia was…amazing. She was a rebel; she always wore black and she wouldn't just accept what people told her, she had to see it or hear it for herself. She was more stubborn then you can imagine. She never let anyone talk her out of anything. She would run into battle without any fear at all, carrying that freaky shield of hers, Aegis. Even when she was injured, she insisted on fighting beside Annabeth and me. She was really gentle and warm with Annabeth, though, despite how she always pretended to be the lone wolf. Annabeth was like her little sister."_

_"What about before Annabeth showed up?"_

_"Well obviously, things were different when it was just the two of us. I don't remember exactly where I met her–to be honest, I don't even remember what state I was in. State boundaries didn't mean much to me when I was on the run. They were just lines on a map. I was always running away from something, but I was never really running _to _anything. I had no goal in mind; the only place I was headed was somewhere away from all the monsters…" he trails off, staring at a lovesick satyr chasing a coy wood nymph, but I can tell he's not really _seeing_ them._

_"But you found Thalia, right?" I ask, my voice equal parts encouraging and impatient._

_"Yeah, I found her. Or maybe it's more appropriate to say that _she_ found _me_. It was midnight, and a few _dracanae_ were following me. I was in some big city, and I turned on random streets and went through narrow back alleys, trying to shake them off. But it didn't work. They sensed me; I knew exactly what I was, what they were, and there were no other demigods around to confuse them…or so I thought. Finally I ended up in some deserted school yard, and before I knew it they had me surrounded."_

_"So what happened? What did you do?" It's stupid, because I know that he obviously got out of there alive, but I can't stop anxiety from leaking into my voice._

_"I drew my sword. I wasn't sure if I could take them all–there were at least seven–but I certainly wasn't going to just stand there and let them kill me. So I charged them. I took out two easy, but the other five just kept coming. So finally one of them manages to knock my blade out of my hand, and she's about to go in for the kill–and then suddenly she's being sliced to pieces. _

_"I was shocked, of course, but it didn't take long for Thalia and I (once I pulled myself together and got my sword back) to finish them off. So when they're all dead, and there's golden dust everywhere, and I'm wondering who the hell this random girl is and whether or not she's a demigod, Thalia turns to look at me and says, 'You know where I can buy a cheeseburger?'"_

_I nearly choke on my laughter. "Shut _up_. She did _not_ say that."_

_"She did. And that was all I really needed. When I left that big city that same night, she went with me."_

_"So that's Thalia, huh?" _

_"Yeah." He runs his hand through his sandy blond locks. "That's Thalia."_

_I stare at him, analyzing his face, trying to figure out what it is about his expression that makes me so angry and so sad and so _jealous._ He's just a friend, but I hate the way his lips curve upward when he says her name. _

_The words burst out of my mouth before I can stop them. "Did you–did you love her?"_

_He looks startled. "What do you mean?"_

_"Well, um, you two were really close, right? And I was just wondering if you, you know, _loved_ her. As in, were you _in_ love with her?" I try to sound casual, nonchalant, but I think he sees through my pathetic disguise._

_"Dess." He smiles just a little, at the same time shaking his head in mock disappointment. "You always have to ask the most intrusive, personal questions, don't you?"_

_"Excuse me, what the heck is that supposed to mean?" My tone is immediately confrontational. _

_He laughs. "I'm just kidding, Dess." _

_I turn my face away, and he hesitates. He reaches forward and tugs on my ponytail. When that doesn't work, he grabs my chin and forces me to look at him. Then he drops his hand and meets my eyes and gods, everything _hurts_, and I can't_ breathe_… _

_But his words make the pain go away. "No. I wasn't. I was never in love with her."_

_My muscles relax, and suddenly I can breathe again. _

In the distance, thunder booms.

* * *

I know something's wrong even before I open my eyes. I can feel it in the air; on my skin. My hair stands on end as I get up and throw on armour over my pyjamas. I'm halfway to the door when my brothers start to stir.

"Dess, what…" Zeth's words are cut off by his yawn. "What's going on? What are you doing?"

I don't even pause to look at him. I continue to the door and wrench it open, tossing a simple "Hurry up and get your armour on" at him over my shoulder. I can hear Jake complaining about my crappy advice and my lack of an explanation, but I don't stop.

Already, a few people are starting the trek up Half-Blood Hill. I follow them. Grover slams into me and doesn't even bother apologizing. I don't even make a scene. I just let him continue running to Percy's cabin.

The morning air feels bitterly cold on my skin. I shiver, regretting my choice of sleeping attire. Of all the nights to wear a sunshine yellow tank top (with very thin straps) to bed… Oh well. At least I'm wearing black sweat pants, which are pretty warm. Most of the other campers are also in their pjs. Lee Fletcher is shirtless, Katie Gardner is wearing a nightgown, and Cheryl is clad in short shorts and a very obviously hastily thrown on sweater. I have a feeling that the 'shirt' she sleeps in is more like a bra.

We gather around the base of the tree; the Fleece glitters in the branches, gold shining in the weak sunlight. Annabeth is there, kneeling beside a girl clothed almost entirely in black.

_"...she almost always wore black..."_

I look up at the now crimson sky and think of the storm last night. I think of the dream I had, and what Luke said to Percy in the Iris-message a few days ago.

_"I was going to let you take the Fleece…once I was done with it."_

Then Chiron comes thundering up the hill, Percy on his back.

"Curse the titan lord." The centaur's voice breaks through the silence, and it seems almost deafening. "He's tricked us again, given himself another chance to control the prophecy."

Terror runs through me as goose bumps ripple across my skin. The prophecy. Oh gods, is this the point where I'm supposed to interfere? What am I supposed to do?

"What do you mean?" Percy asks. His voice is shaking a little. Poor kid has no idea what's going on.

"The Fleece," Chiron says quietly. "The Fleece did its work too well."

They canter forward, and Cheryl pulls me out of their way. Because I can't move on my own. I'm frozen, all my muscles locked. Fear, overwhelming fear, courses through my veins, and it feels like my blood is on fire.

"It healed the tree. And poison is not the only thing it purged." Chiron's voice is rough with fear and unease as he says the words.

Annabeth runs over to them. "It…she…just suddenly there…" She barely manages to choke out the words. There are tears streaming down her face.

Percy jumps off Chiron's back and races toward…_her_. He ignores Chiron's "Percy, wait!" and instead kneels by the girl's side.

"It's true. I can't believe…" Grover is out of breath, having just made it up the hill.

Percy touches the black-haired girl's forehead and then says, "She needs nectar and ambrosia."

He takes her by the shoulders and gently forces her to sit up. No one runs off to retrieve the godly drink or food.

Angered, Percy shouts, "Come on! What's wrong with you people? Let's get her to the Big House."

As shocked as I am, I want to laugh out loud. Does he not realize what's happening? Doesn't he know who the girl he's holding is?

Just as I think this, the girl takes a shuddering breath and coughs. She opens her eyes, and though I can barely see them from her, I know they're blue–electric blue. She looks panicked and confused and she trembles as she looks at Percy.

"Who–"

"I'm Percy. You're safe now." His tone is soothing.

"Strangest dream…"

"It's okay."

"Dying," she whispers, and suddenly I unfreeze.

I revert back to the girl who stood all those years ago, staring at the pine tree in the distance as she heard the story of the brave and determined daughter of Zeus, who loved her friends so much that she gave her life to save theirs. And suddenly I'm not filled with terror or jealousy. Pity and amazement flood me as I stare at her.

"No," Percy says firmly. "You're okay. What's your name?" But surely he must know by now.

Beckendorf and the others at last come running up the hill. They swarm in around me and stare at _her_, stunned. Jake grips my arm for support. He looks like he's going to throw up from the shock of it. Gareth and Zeth exchange grim looks. Out of the five of us, they're the only ones who have actually _seen_ the black-clad girl before. Of course, they only saw her from a distance, and she was dying at the time. But they still recognize her.

"I am Thalia," she says, and the sound of her name being spoken aloud seems to shatter the entire world. "Daughter of Zeus."

* * *

**Author's Note: I hope you liked the scene with Tyson (who unfortunately is not going to be in the story very much) and the short scene with Thalia. I don't think the books ever say how Thalia and Luke met, so obviously I made that up. **

**Reviews are appreciated.**


	12. How to be a Jerk for Dummies

**MAIN TITLE: The Keeper of Fate**

**WARNINGS: See first chapter for warnings. Also, this chapter contains two minor characters from ****_The Lost Hero_****. **

**NOTES: Thanks to **Guest**, **dreamin'BIG**, **Queen Alexandera's Birdwing**, **Apollo06**, **MeganLeBlanc**, **Neela4232**, **angel2u**, **Disabled Profile**, **Iiidog5** and **starwarschic11 **for reviewing this chapter!**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own the PJO series. Rick Riordan does.**

* * *

**Chapter 12: Mr. D Reads 'How to be an Insensitive Jerk for Dummies'**

If there's one thing that'll wake a person up, it's four demigods, a satyr, and a centaur charging into the room where that person is resting. Well, technically speaking, there are only _three_ demigods charging into the Big House. Thalia is riding on Chiron's back, half unconscious. Still, we make a lot of noise when we enter.

So much noise, in fact, that we wake up even Clovis (I used to think the kid could sleep through an explosion; I swear his snores are louder a lion's roar). You see, Clovis is the son of Hypnos, the god of sleep. Unfortunately, since his father is a minor god, Clovis has to stay in the ridiculously crowded Hermes cabin.

Drew, the other person in the infirmary right now, also has to stay in cabin eleven. She arrived at camp only two months after I did. She still hasn't been claimed (it's been three _years_!_ Three!_), but we're all pretty sure that she's a daughter of Aphrodite, because she has an obsession with fashion and make up and boys–basically anything that has to do with love and beauty.

Both Clovis and Drew were injured in that _Draco Aionius_ attack, and despite Chiron's best efforts, they still haven't fully recovered. Clovis' arms are badly burned, and Drew has a broken leg. I wish her mouth was broken instead, that would get her to shut up. She likes to insult those she deems inferior–which is pretty much everyone. She's even worse than Cheryl, who thinks that the younger girl can charmspeak, which means she can get people to listen to her and obey her even if what she's saying is complete bull.

On a side note, can people break their mouths? And don't bother telling me I'm an idiot; I've known that for years. But seriously, can they? I feel like it's not possible, but at the same time, it seems like it could be. Or maybe I'm phrasing it wrong. ...Yeah, now that I think about it, it would be more appropriate to say that someone's _jaw _broke. Huh. I'll remember that for next time.

_Any_ways, when we burst into the infirmary, the two 'children-of-dieties-that-aren't-Hermes-but-they-still-live-in-the-Hermes-cabin' both stir.

"Whuzz going on?" the son of Hypnos yawns sleepily, his mouth opening so wide that I swear I could shove a bowling ball into it–with effort, _extreme_ effort. It seems to take him that much effort just to sit up. Drew follows his lead.

"Yeah, why did you disturb me? Do you know how bad interrupted sleep is for my skin?" the black-haired girl demands, too tired to make her tone sound persuasive.

"No, little miss 'look-at-me-I'm-so-perfect-because-I-can-charmspeak-people-into-following-my-every-idiotic-command', I did not know that, probably because it _isn't true_." I'm dying to say this out loud to her, because she seems to be under the impression that _everything_ is bad for her skin and I just really want to smack her across the face right now, but given the situation that wouldn't exactly be appropriate.

…Ah, to heck with appropriate. When have I ever followed social norms? Ignoring the little voice in my head that tells me I actually follow them quite often, I voice my thoughts, not editing a single word.

"No, little miss 'look-at-me-I'm-so-perfect-because-I-can-charmspeak-people-into-following-my-every-idiotic-command', I did not know that, probably because it _isn't true_."

Drew gets an 'I'm-so-offended-how-could-you-say-that-to-me?' look on her face and opens her mouth to respond, but Chiron tells us both to be quiet.

I'm about to argue, but one glance at Annabeth's face makes me zip my mouth shut. Her face is still tearstained, but her expression is numb, her eyes vacant. The shock is settling in, or maybe it was already there. I'm surprised she managed to make it all the way to the Big House without falling apart. I wouldn't blame her if she did; I know that _I_ would freak out if my dead almost-sister suddenly came back to life.

Somehow, though, she keeps it together. I have a feeling that this is more due to Percy's hand on her shoulder than my hand in her own. But that's okay. If Aphrodite's children are right and there _is_ something going on between Percy and Annabeth, I would be very disturbed if my touch had just as strong an effect on the blond girl as Percy's did.

"What's going on?" Clovis repeats, this time sounding a lot more coherent.

"_Bla-ha-ha_. This isn't the time for questions." Grover's face is uncharacteristically serious. The goat has a sense of humour most of the time, I'll give him that much. The only exceptions are when it comes to people mistreating the Wild, and situations like this one.

"Grover's right," Percy agrees. He squeezes Annabeth's shoulder once and than releases her. Her only noticeable response is to clutch my hand tighter.

Percy turns to Thalia, who is still on Chiron's back, and asks her if she needs help getting down.

"No. I'm fine." She dismounts easily enough, but when her feet touch solid ground she nearly collapses.

Chiron reaches out and steadies her. Percy and Grover lunge forward and both drape one of her arms over their shoulders. They support her weight and help her struggle over to the nearest cot.

Annabeth's fingernails dig into my skin. We're still standing in the doorway; she is frozen in shock, whereas I'm paralyzed by clumsiness–not in the physical sense, though, I've never been a klutz. It's more that I feel like I'm intruding. I have no right to be here; everything I know about Thalia I got secondhand. I've never met her before. She has no idea who Iam, and if I had to guess, I would say that my presence is making her uncomfortable.

I wouldn't have come, but Annabeth made me. After Percy finally broke through everyone's trances, Chiron announced that all the campers had to return to their cabins while he, Grover, Percy, and Annabeth took Thalia to the Big House. This evoked a great deal of protest, but Chiron managed to get the crowd to disperse. I was about to follow my brothers back down the hill, but Annabeth reached out and grabbed my hand. She was clinging to me like I was a lifeline, so I let her drag me along after Chiron and the others.

Now I watch Clovis stare at Thalia with wide eyes. Drew looks like she's about to make a snide remark about Thalia's punk/Goth (or whatever it's called) appearance and the smears of dirt on her clothing and face, but Clovis elbows her in the ribs. He glances from face to face and then throws Drew a 'keep-your-mouth-shut-or-_else_' look.

Then, before my astonished eyes, he lies back down on his bed and closes his eyes. I can tell that he falls asleep the second his head hits the pillow. Drew pretends to do the same (the going back to sleep part, that is; she would never even _pretend _to snore, that's too _unladylike_) but I can tell from her shallow breathing that she's wide awake, ready to listen in on everything that's said.

"Is anybody going to tell me where I am?" Thalia somehow manages to look annoyed and intimidating despite the fact that she's obviously feeling physically weak. Her skin is a sickly white; she looks like she's going to throw up at any moment. But she glares at Jackson, demanding an explanation.

I always knew that she was stubborn–Luke told me so himself, after all–but I never really understood until today just how much.

"Like Percy said, you're safe." Grover tries to soothe her. Then she turns her glare on him and he hastily squeaks, "Uh, I mean, you're at Camp Half-Blood!"

"Camp Half–" she starts to repeat. Then, as she stares at the satyr before her, she seems to come to a realization.

"_Grover?_" she whispers, and she sounds absolutely stunned. "Grover, is that you?"

She doesn't wait for him to reply. "Oh my gods, it _is_ you!" Suddenly she frowns. "But you look different…are those _horns_? You don't have horns, I remember that, Luke and I used to tease you about that all the–" She stops short again.

"Luke! Grover, where are Luke and Annabeth? Tell me you got them here safely! Grover, I swear on the River Styx that if you let _anything_ happen to Annabeth I will–"

That's too much for Annabeth. She bursts into tears. I mean, she was crying before, but not like this. She didn't sound as heartbroken before, and she definitely didn't sound as loud. Now, though, the sheer volume of her sobs is enough to turn Thalia's attention from Grover to her.

"Who are–" Thalia begins, but that just makes Annabeth cry even harder.

I don't understand. She recognized Grover. And she definitely remembers who Annabeth is, so why doesn't she recognize her?

Then it hits me. She doesn't realize how much time has passed. It's been almost seven years since she was turned into a tree, but she doesn't know that. Heck, she doesn't even know that she was turned into a tree in the first place. She recognizes Grover, because despite the growth of his horns he hasn't changed that much in physical appearance. I mean, he looks older now, but obviously not enough that Thalia wouldn't recognize him after a while.

But Annabeth is thirteen now, and Thalia is still looking for an adorable little seven year old with innocent, trusting eyes that have never seen death or betrayal or Hell itself.

So Thalia stares at the broken-hearted blond girl, uncomprehending. She stares, and she stares, and she stares, until finally it clicks–

_"Annabeth?"_

* * *

Half an hour later, I'm still standing awkwardly in the doorway of the Big House. Percy is standing beside me, looking just as uncomfortable as I am. We both glance around the room, at the sleeping Drew and Clovis, at Argus (head of security; Mr. D fired him when the tree was poisoned, but he got his job back just like Chiron did) who is standing in the corner, his hundred or so eyes unblinking as he watches the scene before him.

The scene being Thalia and Annabeth sitting beside each other on the bed, both crying their eyes out. Annabeth has her arms around the older girl, who is still trying to process the fact that she was a tree for nearly seven years. If this is her reaction to Annabeth suddenly being a teenager, then I do _not_ want to be around when she finds out that Luke is a traitorous, murderous, thieving son of a–

Anyways, the point is that Jackson and I both feel like we shouldn't be here, so we pretty much stare at everything but Thalia and Annabeth–and each other. If anyone should be suffering through this awkwardness, it's Grover and Chiron, but the satyr went to go get Dionysus (poor guy; Mr. D hates being woken up before ten) and Chiron went to go make an announcement to all the other extremely restless campers.

Thalia's sobs finally start to subside. She wipes the last of her tears from her face and the daughter of Athena does the same.

"So…it's been seven years." Thalia voice still holds disbelief, despite the proof that's sitting right next to her.

Annabeth remains silent, instead choosing to respond with a nod.

"Then…you grew up here?"

"Yes," the blond girl says softly.

"What about–what about Luke? He's here, right? He got here safely, right? Because I know I told him to get you to safety and stay with you. And if he came running back to save me and got himself killed–" Fury seeps into her tone.

"No, no, he didn't get killed, he's alive," Annabeth assures the angry daughter of Zeus.

"Unfortunately," Percy mutters under his breath, but I'm the only one hears him.

"Then…" Thalia frowns. "Where is he?"

"Thalia, you look tired. You should get some rest–" Annabeth sounds almost pleading. I get the feeling that she would rather cut off her own arm then answer Thalia's question.

But if Thalia picks up on her reluctance, she ignores it.

"Annabeth, _where is he_?"

Annabeth glances at me helplessly. Thalia follows her gaze and her eyes widen, as if she hadn't realized that Jackson and I were here.

"Who the hell are you?" She stares at both of us. Percy told her his name earlier, but I guess being told that seven years have passed without her knowledge made her forget.

"I'm Percy Jackson," the son of Poseidon quickly reintroduces himself. "And that's Argus, head of security."

Thalia doesn't look the least bit disturbed that the creature Percy is pointing to has eyes all over his body. Instead she turns to me, as I'm the only person whose name she doesn't know.

Apparently, Percy doesn't know it either. "And this is, uh…" he glances at me apologetically.

"Dess," is all I say.

"Right," Jackson says. "That's Dess. Dess, Percy, and Argus. And the guy that was in here earlier, the one with four legs? That's Chiron, activities director. He's a–"

Thalia cuts him off. "A centaur. Yeah, I saw that for myself, thanks."

"Right," Percy says again. "And, uh, you haven't met him yet, but the camp director, we call him Mr. D. His real name is–"

"Dionysus, I know." I think Thalia enjoys interrupting the already embarrassed son of Poseidon. "God of wine. Grover told us a long time ago," she quickly adds upon seeing the expression of confusion on Percy's face.

"Oh. Well anyways, you have to be polite when you meet him, because he likes to blast demigods into tiny little pieces. He's a bit, uh, _temperamental_, I guess you could say." Jackson pulls a face that says that 'temperamental' is _not_ the word he wanted to use.

"Oh, am I, Johnson?" a sarcastic voice drawls.

Percy and I whirl around, shocked, and there's Mr. D. He pushes past us, revealing terrified looking Grover. If Thalia is confused about Mr. D's use of the name 'Johnson', she doesn't show it.

"Hi, sir, nice to meet you." She stands up on shaky legs and offers him her hand, but of course Mr. D doesn't take it. Gods forbid he engages in a handshake with anyone who isn't immortal.

"Well, it's most certainly _not_ nice to meet you. But at least I don't have to explain what this camp is like I did with _some_ people." He throws Jackson a dirty look.

"With all due respect, sir, Chiron did most of the explaining," Percy shoots back.

"Oh, be quiet, Pedro. You're lucky I'm too tired to turn your bones into those water noodle that kids use at the beach," Mr. D snaps.

Thalia ignores them. She turns to Annabeth and asks for the third time, "Where's Luke?"

Annabeth takes a deep breath and prepares to answer, but our oh-so sensitive and tactful camp director beats her to it.

"You mean that Hermes boy? Logan Casanova or whatever his name was? No one knows where he is. He stole Father's master bolt and tried to start a war between the gods, all in the name of my dear grandfather," Mr. D thoughtlessly sneers.

The colour that was slowly returning to Thalia's face once again drains away.

"Luke stole my dad's– What are you _talking_ about? Luke wouldn't– And what do you mean your grandfather? Isn't your grandfather–"

"Kronos, the Titan lord of time." Dionysus calmly stares back at her. "That Logan boy, the traitor, he joined Kronos' cause and stole Zeus' symbol of power."

"No...he–he wouldn't–" Thalia trips over her words.

"Oh yes he would. And he did. In fact," the wine god says slowly, "he's the one who poisoned your tree."

Thalia collapses back onto the bed, her face an unhealthy chalk-white.

"No…"

Percy, Grover and me all glare at Mr. D, but it's Annabeth's expression that makes him say, "Well, there's no point in me being here. Welcome to Hell–I mean camp. Have a…nice day."

He spins on his heel and walks away. Annabeth stares after him, her face so cold that I swear it could freeze lava. She stares until his blond head disappears, and then she turns back to Thalia, her icy expression melting instantly.

"Thalia…I'm so sorry, that's not the way I wanted you to find out," she says anxiously.

And suddenly I know why she wanted me to come with her to the Big House. She wanted someone to distract Thalia so that the black-haired girl wouldn't ask about Luke. She wanted someone to draw Thalia's attention away from Luke's absence, as if the presence of two strangers (Percy and I) could mask it.

Well, it's too late for that now. I meet Annabeth's gaze and she sighs. I take this as permission to leave. Percy follows me out.

Falling into step with me, he asks, "Do you think she'll be okay?"

In the back of my mind, I wonder who he's talking about: Thalia or Annabeth?

I glance upwards. The sky is a cheery blue, not a cloud in sight; nothing remains of last night's storm.

"Yeah. Yeah, she'll be fine." And somehow I really believe it.

"Good." He looks relieved. "I haven't had breakfast, so I'm gonna head over the mess hall…you coming?"

I shake me head.

"All right then. See you around." He gives me an awkward smile that tells me he's already forgotten my name. Whatever.

"Yeah, see you."

He hurries along to the dining pavilion, and I decide to my way to the forges. I need something to lose myself in. I walk in the direction of the Armory, my pace faster then it needs to be.

But as fast as it is, I still hear it when the sobs of two heartbroken girls start up again.

* * *

_"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you. Happy birthday dear Dess, happy birthday to you!" my brothers, my friends, and Cheryl all sing._

_"Blow out the candles, Dess!" _

_Rolling my eyes at Jake's enthusiasm, I obey. The flames are extinguished and everyone cheers. A knife is shoved into my hand–Cheryl shifts her body so that Gareth will be in the knife's direct path if I try to throw it at her (paranoid, much?)–and I make the first cut in the drool-worthy chocolate cake._

_A hand reaches around me, grabs the knife, and makes the second cut. It's a large piece, large enough that it has all four letters of my name (which are written in purple icing) on it. The slice is plopped onto the nearest plastic plate. The hand places it in front of me along with a fork._

_As the arm withdraws, I turn._

_Luke grins back at me and reaches forward to tug on the string of my party hat. It stings a little when it hits my skin, but I just roll my eyes and turn back to my cake._

_I devour two slices of cake in rapid succession, trying to ignore Luke, who is poking me incessantly in the back. Finally I can't take it. I catch his hand and squeeze it hard, hard it enough that surely it must be causing him _some_ pain._

_But he just laughs and leans forward, placing a kiss on my neck._

_I escape Luke and his endless poking by chatting with Annabeth, making fun of Grover, listening to Clarisse rant about her idiot brothers, and chasing Cheryl around while brandishing a knife. And don't look at me like that, I promise the blade was fake. Really. It wasn't even sharp enough to cut through butter._

_After a couple of hours, the party winds down and my brothers push me into a chair. They shove present after present into my hand, and I follow the usual routine; unwrap the thing, exclaim over it for a few seconds, and then thank whoever got it for me profusely. _

_My brothers run out of gifts to hand me, and Jake, Zeth, and Gareth exchange stunned looks when they realize that I haven't received anything from Luke._

_Normally I would be really, _really_ pissed, but the expression on Beckendorf's face makes me suspicious. He has a hand over his mouth like he's trying to hide a smile. Both Beckendorf and Luke have been disappearing for hours at time for the past week or so. I've noticed them hanging out a lot more then they usually do, talking, and whenever I walk up to them they suddenly fall silent or change the subject._

_Now, if Beckendorf was a girl and about five years older, I might assume that Luke was cheating on me. But since neither of those things is true, I know better. I'm about to call them out on their suspicious behaviour, but then Luke plunges a hand into his pocket._

_As he pulls out a small, square, velvet box, he gets down on one knee right in front of me. Zeth's and Jake's mouths fall open in horror while Gareth's face turns a familiar shade of purple-red._

_I just roll my eyes. "Luke, stop being an idiot, I know you're not actually proposing to me."_

_His features twist into a disappointed expression. He gets up while muttering under his breath that I've ruined his fun._

_He presses the velvet box into my hand and I open it. Inside is a beautiful golden bracelet. All seven links gleam in the sunlight; between each is a little charm. Upon closer inspection I realize that each charm is in the shape of some sort of food. There's a burger, a gingerbread house, a taco, a small slice of cake, a plate of spaghetti and…_

_"A banana split. Like the ones _he_ used to make." He watches me carefully like he's worried that he's completely messed up and I absolutely hate his gift. But I don't. The food thing isn't exactly conventional, but in a weird, twisted sort of way, it's thoughtful. And I do miss _his _banana splits._

_I smile up at Luke and he grins back, relieved. I get up, ignoring Cheryl who is performing the classic face palm while obviously thinking: oh-my-_gods_-he-made-her-a-bracelet-with-freaking-foods-that-contain-carbs-on-it-that-is-_so_-_not_-romantic._

_I take a few steps toward Luke and ask him, "Is this what you've been working on for the past week?"_

_He nods, and after glancing briefly at Beckendorf, I question, "And you've been spending so much time with Beckendorf because he's been helping you? All this time, when you disappeared for hours you were actually in the forges, making this for me?"_

_"Yup. Why, were you worried that I was sweeping some Apollo girl off her feet?" Luke teases._

_I make a face but, after a second's hesitation, answer honestly, "Yeah, maybe."_

_That wipes the smirk off his face. He stares at me, and then says softly, "Well you didn't need to be. You never need to be worried about that."_

_My lips tug upward at the corners. "Yeah?"_

_He reaches forward and pulls me into his arms. "Yeah."_

_He holds me for a few seconds, and I stand there, enjoying the feeling of being wrapped up in the safety and warmth of his arms. I draw back slightly and he leans down to kiss me, and it's absolute bliss–_

_"Ew, would you two get a room?" Jake complains loudly._

_Luke smiles against my lips, and I pull away, laughing._

_"Well, if you really want us to." Luke starts towing me toward the cabins. _

_Jake turns green. "No, I _don't_ want you to! You can't do stuff like _that_ in the Hephaestus cabin, it's gross!"_

_Everyone laughs._

_A few minutes later, the party finally comes to an end and everyone drifts off to do their own thing after wishing me one last 'happy birthday'. Luke and I end up in the forest, in our usual spot by the creek. We sit on the large rock and for a while neither of us speak. It's not an uncomfortable silence, but eventually I do break it._

_"Why did you make me that bracelet?"_

_He stares at me like I've grown a second head. "Because it's your birthday, you're my girlfriend, and you would kill me if I didn't get you anything."_

_"It's just that tons of guys just buy some cheap box of chocolates…"_

_"No, no, that's Valentine's day, babe–I mean Dess!" he adds hastily under the pressure of my glare._

_"Drop the joking attitude for a second, will you?"_

_"Okay," he says. He stares at the creek. "Well, you've seen that knife Annabeth has, right?"_

_I nod and he continues, "I gave it to her. And I once gave Thalia this button from a Green Day concert, she liked collecting buttons from all sorts of bands…"_

_"So you felt that because you gave them something, you had to give me something?"_

_"No, it's not like that." He frowns. "When I gave them those things, I felt like I was making them a promise. I was promising that I would always be there for them, no matter what… But I broke my promise to Thalia. I wasn't there when she need me most. So giving you that bracelet…it was sort of my way of redeeming myself. It was my way of promising you that I'm always going to be there for you…" he trails off, still staring at the water._

_"You never failed Thalia. She'd beat you over the head with a wooden club if she ever heard you say otherwise."_

_His lips twitch upwards and he says, "I know."_

_He turns his face to me and reaches out a hand, pressing it against my cheek._

_"It doesn't really matter if I failed her or not. I guess what I'm really trying to say is…I'll never fail _you. _You can always count on me," he looks me in the eyes. "Always."_

_And I believe him._

* * *

**Author's Note: I know Thalia isn't the type to cry a lot, but she's just had the world ripped out from under her feet, so don't hold the OOCness against me. **

**Reviews are appreciated, have an awesome day.**


	13. Thalia Makes My Life Miserable

**MAIN TITLE: The Keeper of Fate**

**WARNINGS: See first chapter for warnings. **

**NOTES: Thanks to **Neela4232**, **angel2u**, **MeganLeBlanc**, **dreamin'Big** and **KittyKat** for reviewing!**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own the PJO series. Rick Riordan does.**

* * *

**Chapter 13: Thalia Accidentally Makes My Life Miserable**

Life with Thalia at camp is really weird. For the first two weeks, people stop and stare whenever she passes by. As a result, she doesn't feel comfortable talking to anyone except for Annabeth and Grover. Because both the daughter of Athena and the satyr stick to her like glue, she spends time with Percy, too. After a while she seems to decide that he's all right, though I think she finds him a little annoying. It also doesn't take long for Thalia to get used to and grow fond of Chiron, but she hates Mr. D. No surprises there.

What _is_ surprising is that she occasionally spends time with _me_. I mean, it kind of makes sense, because I _was_ there in the infirmary with her, and unlike most of the campers, I don't gawk at her whenever I see her. And considering the fact that she's still adjusting to everything that's changed in the past seven years, she's actually pretty fun to hang around most of the time.

She almost threw up when she saw the Aphrodite cabin, and when Cheryl came out to introduce herself. Since then Thalia's been helping me (and sometimes Clarisse) play pranks on the redhead every so often. Obviously, this earned my respect. She's an awesome fighter, too. She kicked Jackson's butt in the Arena once after he made the mistake of challenging her to a good-natured one-on-one battle.

The problem is that the closer she gets to me, the more she talks about Luke. At first I didn't understand it. I mean, why would she talk to _me_ about Luke? She's only known me for two weeks! So naturally, I assumed that Annabeth or Grover had told her about my relationship with Luke. And naturally, my assumption was wrong.

She didn't know. She still doesn't know. She talks to me about him _because_ she thinks I have no connection to him. Thalia realizes that Grover, Chiron, Percy, and especially Annabeth aren't going to give her what she wants: the truth.

Grover and Chiron would be too worried about hurting her, so they would keep things from her. Annabeth would have the same problem, but even if the younger girl ignored the need to protect Thalia, she'd be hurting _herself_; the last thing she would want is to relive all the pain Luke caused her. On top of that, Annabeth's view of things is distorted. She thinks that Luke can be saved. She believes that he's still a hero deep down.

Then there's Percy. Now, in case I haven't already told you and you haven't already guessed, Percy really, _really_ hates Luke. This is so obvious that even Thalia, who has only heard him mention Luke about two times, can see it. So while Thalia doesn't want the story of Luke's betrayal told by someone who is blinded by love (Annabeth) she also doesn't want the story told by someone who is blinded by hatred (Percy).

Unfortunately for me, Thalia doesn't realize that I have all of these problems. When I talk to her about Luke, I worry that I'm going to say something that will seriously hurt her–or myself. I used to love Luke–and maybe I still do; I don't really know–but I definitely hate what he's done, and in a way, his actions have made me hate _him_.

But Thalia thinks that Luke was just another camper to me. She thinks that I didn't take his betrayal personally. She thinks that my opinion of him is objective. And I just can't bring myself to tell her that she's got it all wrong.

So I pretend. I pretend that I never really cared about him, and that her questions don't bother me. I tell her the truth about how he's almost killed Percy about five times, and that though Luke did poison her tree, he did want to use the Golden Fleece to bring her back to life.

Which makes her feel a lot better, while at the same time making me feel a lot worse. He went to such lengths to bring her back, and somehow I doubt he would do that for me. Yeah, that's right. As stupid as it is, I'm _still_ jealous of Thalia. Or maybe it's more appropriate to say that I'm _once again_ jealous of her. Because I really did get over the jealousy when I started dating Luke. It was only after he broke my heart that it came back.

And it's not even about whether he's in love with her or not anymore–or at least not completely. I'm jealous of Annabeth now, too, and despite her crush on Luke, he only ever saw her as a little sister. Heck, I'm even jealous of _Grover_ now, simply because he knew Luke before he went on his quest.

That doesn't make any sense, does it? Maybe I should explain it better. You see, Annabeth and Thalia and Grover knew Luke long before he ever joined Kronos. They knew the _real_ him, not just the front he put up to fool everyone into thinking he was the good guy. They can trust their memories of him. Even after everything he's done to her, Annabeth has never doubted the fact that he genuinely cared about her. And she never will.

But I never had any of that. By the time I met him, he was already bitter about failing his quest. He was already being tortured with nightmares and tempted by the opportunity for revenge. He was already being swayed to Kronos' side.

So I'll always be wondering if he was only getting close to me so that when the time came, he could persuade me to join Kronos. I'll always be wondering if I ever really knew him, if he ever really loved me. I'll always have those doubts.

There's nothing I can really do about it, though. So I'll ignore all of this, until it becomes too much. I can't keep all of this in forever. Eventually, I'll reach my limit, and everything I've been bottling up inside will explode.

* * *

"You guys ready for this?" Gareth questions.

Clarisse scoffs. "Are you kidding me, Vires? I was _born_ ready for this. This is our chance to get back at Jackson for that one game last summer." She turns to her teammates and lifts her spear. "For Ares!"

"FOR ARES!" her siblings shout back.

I roll my eyes. Gods, we are _so_ doomed. Why is it that we never have the Athena cabin on our side? Seriously, those geeks kick ass. AND they've got the Apollo kids on their side, so we're going to be showered with arrows pretty quickly. Not to mention they have Pollux, Castor, Percy, and Thalia.

On the other, they're also stuck with the children of Aphrodite, who usually never participate in capture the flag. I mean, Silena does about half of the time, and Cheryl is this time–just because I'm on the opposite team–but unless the two girls manage to rally the rest of their cabin, they're not going to be much help. Which is a problem for the red team, because with most of the Aphrodite cabin sitting out for the entire game, we have at least fifteen more campers than they do.

The team with the Hermes cabin almost always has more campers. I mean, there are more than twenty of them–heck, there are almost _thirty_. To be perfectly honest, if I didn't know that a lot of the kids in cabin eleven were undetermined or children of minor gods, I would be disgusted with Hermes. I don't think even a god could knock up _that_ many women in the space of a decade, give or take a few years.

Anyways, the point is that we have the Hermes cabin on our side, which brings our numbers up to almost fifty. Well, technically, we–and by we I mean Demeter, Ares, and Hephaestus–are on _their_ side. The blue team's silver banner bears the messenger god's symbol: a caduceus. The Hermes kids are the ones who organized the alliance. I don't know what the other cabins were promised, but I do know that my brothers and I are Pegasus-free for the next three weeks.

Surprisingly, the red team is led by Mr. D's twins. Castor got the flag to his side last time, so it turned royal purple with a thyrsus on it. A thyrsus is basically a staff wrapped in grapevines and ivy with a pinecone on top. Apparently Dionysus and his followers (gods, that's a scary thought; Dionysus with _followers_) carried these staffs around all the time.

I watch the others go over the plan, determined to make sure Castor and Pollux don't end up on a winning streak.

"Now remember, Connor, you're going to take half of all four cabins and attack the red team head on," Katie reminds the mischievous son of Hermes.

"Right." He nods enthusiastically. "I got it. I can remember that."

"You better," she mutters under her breath. She watches carefully as he gathers his troops and relays them the plan.

"But that's just a ruse, right?" Travis chimes in. "They'll be so focused on the frontal assault that they won't even notice me swoop in from the side until I've spirited their flag away!"

I roll my eyes again. "I think you mean they won't notice you _and_ Gareth and I swoop in."

He merely shrugs his shoulders dismissively and says, "Right, I forgot about you two. I guess you'll be of some help."

Gardner ignores us. "Now, Sherman and I will be guarding our flag. Meanwhile, the remainder of the team will be patrolling. And not just the border, okay? You guys have to patrol as much of our side of this forest as you can. And make sure you always have someone with you."

"Aye aye, Captain!" Jake salutes her. Katie's lips press together like she's fighting a smile.

"Hey, wait a second," Sherman protests. "How come I have to guard the flag? That's such a boring job!"

"To put it simply," Beckendorf says, "we don't really trust you with anything else."

Sherman grumbles under his breath about how unfair that is, but he shuts up pretty quickly when I point out that Isabel would be playing too if she weren't in a wheelchair.

Chiron will be blowing the conch horn in a few minutes, so everyone breaks into their groups to get individual assignments and figure out who is stationed where. Katie wanders from group to group, making sure that everyone knows what they're doing. You know, I was kind of surprised when the daughter of Demeter took the leadership role, but now I think it suits her. She's great at ordering people around. I mean, she shouldn't be leader _all_ the time, but considering the choice is between her and the Stoll brothers, I'm glad she's in charge.

"You know," Travis' voice breaks through my internal musings. "I'm kind of surprised that Katie picked you two to go after the flag."

"And why is that, exactly?" I glare at him, but apparently this has no effect on him.

"I was just wondering, you know," he answers, unabashed. "Because you two aren't exactly master thieves."

"And you are?" Gareth asks skeptically.

"Of course I am!" he fakes a highly insulted expression.

"Well, your reputation certainly doesn't precede you," I tell him.

"Now you're just lying," he protests. "New campers are always warned about my brother and me on the very first day."

"Yeah, they're warned about what weirdoes you two are."

I don't really mean it, and Travis knows that. He stills punches me in the shoulder, though. Not hard enough to leave a bruise, but hard enough that it hurts a little.

"Travis!" Katie's horrified gasp comes from behind us. We spin around and find that the expression on her face matches her tone of voice. "How could you do that to Dess?"

"It's all right, Katie, it was a really light punch," I assure her.

"That doesn't matter! It's not right to hit people!" Gardner insists.

Travis rolls his eyes. "Katie, you hit people all the time. And not just during capture the flag or combat practice, either. Whenever Connor and I say something stupid, you almost always slap us across the face."

"Yeah, but this is different, Dess is a–"

"A girl?" Travis interrupts her. "Is that what you were going to say? Because you know, Katie, that's really sexist of you."

He's just teasing, but she takes the accusation seriously. "What do you mean, sexist? How is it sexist to say that it's wrong to hit a girl?"

The joking smile disappears. "Are you kidding me?" he asks incredulously. "Of course it's sexist! Towards boys _and_ girls. Girls are allowed to hit boys, but boys aren't allowed to hit girls? Correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm pretty sure that's a double standard. You're basically saying that boys deserve to be hit for no reason other than that they're _boys_. And on the flipside, you're implying that girls aren't tough enough to take a punch or two from a guy."

Gareth and I exchange startled glances. Katie blinks, stunned. That was probably the most meaningful thing Travis has ever said.

Katie blinks again and then says slowly, "Travis, I… You–you're _right_."

"Do you _have_ to sound so surprised?"

The shock drains away, but Katie doesn't get a chance to respond. The sound of the conch shell being blown in the distance pierces the evening air, and immediately the other groups run off to do their respective jobs.

"You think I have a shot with her now?" Travis asks hopefully, his eyes glued to Katie's retreating figure.

His question doesn't surprise me that much. I mean, he pranks her more than all the other campers combined. He's like a little boy on the playground that throws pebbles at pretty girls. I watch as Katie rejoins her group, noting the thoughtful look on her face. She's really thinking over what he said.

"Maybe," I answer. "But Travis, she's known you for _years_; one conversation isn't going to completely change her opinion of you."

"Then I'll keep working on it." The determination on his face makes me smile. Poor boy's got it _bad_.

"All right, lover boy, but let's focus on the game for now, okay?" I ask, mostly because Gareth is glaring at us impatiently.

"Sure thing." Travis turns to my half-brother and says, "Sorry, got a little distracted."

Gareth grunts, which Travis and I take to mean "apology accepted". Then Gareth grins. "So I ask again: are you guys ready for this?"

"Heck yeah!" says Travis.

"Do you even need to ask?" is my response.

We wander away from our flag, determined to get the enemy's banner at all costs.

* * *

_"You said your name was Althea, right?"_

_"Y–yes."_

_"Do you know if your mother knew anything about Greek mythology?"_

_"I g–guess. I–I–I mean, my mother _did _take a–an introductory course on it… W–why?" _

_"It's just that Althea is the English form of the Greek name Althaea, like with an 'a' before the 'ea'. So if your mother purposely chose that name because it was Greek, then it could give us a clue to who your father was."_

_"R–really?"_

_"Yeah. According to Greek mythology, Althaea was–"_

_Standing several feet away from the two conversing demigods, Annabeth and I groan. _

_I shake my head. "There he goes again." _

_"And I tried so hard to keep him away from her. I thought I could save her," Annabeth sighs, looking both defeated and frustrated at the same time._

_I pat her shoulder. "You did the best you could. I guess there's just no stopping him."_

_"I guess you're right. My gods, that's something I never thought I would say…" I glare at her but she ignores me, instead choosing to continue: "Maybe we should just let him do his thing for now, let him get it out of his system."_

_"Yeah, I don't think there's anything else we can do at this point. It's too late for her. But let's watch, just in case."_

_"Yeah, and if she starts looking like she's been scarred for life, then we'll just have to rescue her." Annabeth face is set, determined._

_"Agreed," I say, and then turn my attention back to Luke and the little girl who keeps glancing around for some sort of escape. _

_"–so you see, you might be a child of Ares because it's rumoured that Althaea was his granddaughter. But on the other hand, there were a lot of nymphs with the name Althaea–there still are, in fact–and nymphs are typically associated with Dionysus, Hermes, or Pan, but of course you can't possibly be a child of Pan because he went missing so long ago. So you might be my sibling, or you might be Mr. D's kid–"_

_Okay, that's going too far. We let him have his fun, but telling a little girl that she might be a child of our grumpy camp director? No. Just no. _

_Annabeth and I stare each other down. One of us has to rescue that terrified ten year old. _

_I blink._

_"Hah! I win!" she exclaims triumphantly._

_"It was your idea to interfere in the first place," I argue._

_"You agreed to it," she shoots back._

_"Rock-paper-scissors?" I suggest. _

_"…Sure, why not?" _

_"Rock, paper, scissors. Rock, paper, scissors," I chant, but both times we tie. "Rock, paper, scissors–damn."_

_"Have fun." Annabeth smiles, uncurling her fist from rock formation. I knew I shouldn't have gone with scissors._

_I sigh and trudge across the pavilion to table eleven._

_"–though of course it's possible you're a daughter of Apollo, because 'Althaea' is Greek for 'healing', and Apollo _is_ the god of medicine–ow!" _

_I withdraw my hand from his arm as Luke turns to glare at me._

_"What was that for?" he demands, rubbing his thumb over the part of his skin that I pinched._

_"_Someone_ had to get you to shut up. You're traumatizing the poor girl."_

_"Don't be ridiculous, I was just explaining–" he begins heatedly, but I interrupt him._

_"Sorry, he has problems," I tell the bewildered girl, who truthfully looks very relieved when I grab Luke's elbow and drag him away._

_I tow Luke out of the mess hall, nodding at Annabeth when I pass her. When we're a safe distance away from the dining area, I release him. _

_"Luke," I say, and my voice is full of exasperation. "Do you have to do that to _every_ new kid?"_

_"I was trying to help her find out who her godly parent is," he protests._

_"I realize that, but didn't _you_ realize how uncomfortable you were making her? I know you were just trying to help, but still. That is _such_ a weird habit. How would you like it if someone spewed out an encyclopedia's worth of info on Greek mythology the second you introduced yourself? I mean, I know _I _make people uncomfortable a lot, and I know I babble on about stuff that nobody cares about, and I _know_ that I make things really difficult most of the time but– What? Why are you looking at me like that?" I demand._

_For a second he just stares at me. I tap my foot impatiently._

_"I love you," he says simply, and then he starts walking again, like he hasn't just turned my whole world upside down._

_"I–wait, what did you say?" I ask, because he's _never_ said that to me before._

_He stops walking and turns to look at me. "I love you," he repeats. "It's only three words, Dess, and I wasn't whispering or anything. You sure your hearing isn't going?"_

_My temper flares. "My hearing is perfectly fine, thank you very much. And I think I'm entitled to ask you to repeat yourself."_

_"Are you?" he asks, quirking an eyebrow._

_"Yes, I am! You don't just blurt stuff like that out! You can't just spring it on people unexpectedly, you have to–" I stop short._

_"I have to what?" He grins lazily. "Was I supposed to serenade you with a love song that I wrote? Or was I supposed to have someone write it in the sky? Or was I supposed to take you out to dinner at some fancy restaurant that uses candles for lighting and then write it on your plate with ketchup?"_

_I can feel my face heating up. "That's not what I meant and you know it. You can be such an asshole sometimes, Luke."_

_"So can you, and yet I somehow love you anyways." He grins again and tugs on a lock of my hair. His fingers trail down my arm, stopping to play with the golden bracelet that is always on my wrist now. _

_"Whatever, I'm going to the Arena to practice." I roll my eyes, but he catches my arm as I stomp past. _

_"Hang on a second," he says indignantly. "Aren't you going to give me an answer?"_

_"Answer? You didn't ask me a question," I retort._

_Looking as exasperated as I did not five minutes ago, he points out, "I just told you that I loved you. You're generally supposed to give some sort of response to that."_

_"Oh, well just give me a second to compose a romantic poem and write it out on the ground in ketchup," I say, bitingly sarcastic. I try to jerk my arm free from his grip. My attempt is unsuccessful, so I snap, "Fine, whatever, I love you too."_

_Undeterred by my less-than-affectionate tone, he asks, "Yeah?"_

_It suddenly occurs to me that he sounds just like I did a couple of weeks ago on my birthday, when I was admitting that I was worried that he liked another girl. A little uncertain. More than a little vulnerable. He's putting himself out there and I'm treating it like a joke._

_I stop struggling against his grip. "Yeah," I answer softly, and his entire face lights up. And then I add, "I love you."_

_Because I mean it, just like he did._

* * *

"Crap, someone's coming, let's hide behind that tree!"

I follow Travis' command, jerking myself completely out of the memory I was lost in. We're about ten minutes into the game, and already my attention span is waning. As I crouch behind my brother who is crouching behind a tall red maple, I think about how sure I was last that Luke was telling the truth. _"I love you,"_ he'd said, and I had believed him.

It's strange, but the more I fell in love with him, the less I thought about him. I thought about him all the time when I was just infatuated with him, because when you're infatuated with someone you're constantly plagued with insecurities. Those insecurities faded over time. I still had doubts occasionally–it was impossible not to–but for the most part I just felt happy when I was with him, not anxious. Usually when I really, truly love someone, I'm more confident that I can trust them.

So the fact that I'm always questioning Luke's motives…maybe it's a good thing. Maybe it means I'm getting over him. I think about him almost all the time now. It's like my entire world revolves around him; everything relates back to him. I dislike Jackson because of Luke. I'm uncomfortable around Thalia because of him. I was jealous of Thalia, but then I got over it. Now that jealously is back, and I can't help but hope that it's because my feelings for him are reverting back to infatuation. Maybe I'm falling out of love with him.

Feeling slightly cheered by this possibility, I shift my attention to what's important: winning the game. I let out a sigh of relief when the sound of footsteps finally fades. I stand up when I get Travis' signal and we continue on in search of the enemy flag. Seriously, how hard can it possibly be to find a giant purple banner? Just as I think this, Gareth hisses, "Look!" and points to the right. There it is, in all its glory. The enemy flag. Only there's a problem. Someone's guarding it–and not just anyone. No, it has to be Thalia.

* * *

**Author's Note: Luke was probably kind of OOC in the flashback. I made him a little obsessed with the meaning of names and whether or not they have Greek origins. It's not like the books say anything about his quirks (not including all of the quirks that involve him being a traitorous, evil insert-swear-word-that-means-jerk here) so I obviously made it up.**

**Hope you liked this chapter. Reviews are appreciated.**


	14. I Nearly Get My Eyebrows Seared Off

**MAIN TITLE: The Keeper of Fate**

**WARNINGS: See first chapter for warnings.**

**NOTES: Thanks to **dreamin'Big**, **angel2u**, **Neela4232**, **MeganLeBlanc**, **whorendale**, and **KittyKat **for reviewing this chapter!**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own the PJO series. Rick Riordan does.**

* * *

**Chapter 14: I Nearly Get My Eyebrows Seared Off **

"Crap," Travis groans. "What do we do now?"

"What do _think_ we do, stupid? We get the flag," I shoot back.

"I _know_ that, thanks. I _meant_ how are we going to get the flag while Thalia's guarding it?" Travis' voice is filled with irritation.

But he's nowhere near as annoyed as Gareth. "Shut up for a second, will you? And that goes for both of you," he adds when he sees I'm about to speak. Gareth scratches his head, his nose scrunching up the way it does when he's thinking deeply.

"Okay, so it's not like we didn't expect them to have someone guarding the flag. They'd be complete idiots if they didn't," Gareth says. "The only thing is–don't you think it's odd that Thalia's the only one there? We're allowed two guards each, after all."

"Now that you mention it," I say slowly, "that _is_ weird."

"That's great and all." Travis is impatient. "But how are we going to _avoid _Thalia and whoever else might be here?"

"We can't," Gareth replies. "Our best bet is to take her–them–by surprise."

"And how exactly would we–" I begin.

"Gardner assigned us to get the flag for a reason." Gareth says thoughtfully, scratching his head again.

"Travis, you're stealthy–some of the time." Gareth ignores Travis' indignant "Hey!" and instead continues, "I'm strong, and Dess, you're fast. So you and I will charge her, while Travis comes around from the back and gets the flag while no one's looking. Then he'll pass it to you and he and I will cover your back while you run like hell. Is that all right with you guys?" He gives us a look that seems to say 'It better damn well be all right with you guys.'

Travis and I glance at each other and shrug.

"Sure," I say. "It's not like either of us could come up with a better plan. Let's do it."

Gareth claps Travis on the shoulder. "All right, kid. Try not to mess this up."

Travis' expression immediately becomes one of mock devastation. "How can you doubt me, Captain?"

Gareth grunts and shoves Travis in the direction he's supposed to go in. Though I think that he, like Katie, enjoys being addressed as 'Captain', because his push doesn't have much force behind it.

We wait until he's out of sight. Gareth turns to me and grins. "You–"

"Ready?" I finish for him. Then I quote Clarisse: "Bro, I was _born_ ready."

* * *

Things go wrong almost immediately. For one thing, Thalia notices us right away. I guess I shouldn't have snapped that twig in half. Whatever. Thalia raises her spear and Aegis. My skin crawls as I try to avoid looking at the shield directly. That thing is so creepy.

I see Gareth nod out of the corner of my eye. My hand tightens around the handle of my sword. If she kicked Percy's butt, then Gareth and I don't stand a chance–at least not separately. But we're fighting together, so maybe…

We charge her. I swipe at her legs while Gareth aims higher. Thalia blocks Gareth's attack with her shield and mine with her spear. She forces us back easily and then jabs at me with her spear. I push it away with my sword while Gareth attempts to knock her shield out of her hand.

We fight on for a while, but Thalia shows no signs of tiring. I steal a glance over Thalia's shoulder for just a second and am relieved to see Travis tiptoeing closer and closer to the flag.

And that's when the plan blows up in our faces.

Cheryl appears out of nowhere and has a sword at Travis' throat before he can even blink. Thalia electrocutes Gareth when he tries to duck under her spear. He hits the ground, dazed.

"Cheryl?" I say to Thalia incredulously. "_Cheryl_ is the other guard?"

Thalia smiles and shoves me back with her shield, sending me sprawling. "They didn't really trust her with anything else."

With her blade still against Travis' neck, Cheryl protests, "That is _not_ the reason! They just figured if you did happen to notice me–which you didn't–you would underestimate me."

I scramble to my feet and parry Thalia's oncoming blow. "I'm going to have to agree with Thalia here. After all, the only reason she's here at all is to make sure you don't completely mess it up, am I right?"

Cheryl shouts, "No!" at the same time Thalia says, "Pretty much."

Meanwhile, Gareth has managed to pick himself up off the ground and stumble toward Cheryl and her captive. Cheryl, who is already distracted by our conversation, completely shifts her focus off of Travis, who in turn takes the opportunity to dart away from her.

"Cheryl," Thalia screams. "For the love of Zeus, pay attention!"

Cheryl whirls around and realizes that she's in trouble. Travis is already out of her reach, and Gareth is closing in on her. Thalia is still locked in combat with me, so she can't come to Cheryl's rescue. I figure we've won. Cheryl's not exactly the best fighter around.

And then Cheryl does something none of us are expecting. She lunges toward her team's banner and grabs it. Instead of running away with it, she throws it up into the branches of the nearest tree. It ends up about five metres above our heads. There's no way we can get to it without climbing the tree.

Now, this shouldn't really be that much of a problem. We have three people on our side. Two to fight off Thalia and Cheryl, and one to climb the tree. The problem? I'm the best climber out of the three of us, and I'm stuck battling Thalia. Gareth would be the second best choice to get the flag, but Cheryl attacks him and he has no choice but to stay there and defend himself. Which leaves Travis.

Travis _does not_ like climbing. He's had some bad experiences with the giant wall that spews lava. Now he stares up at the flag, his face a little green.

"Travis, get the flag or I'll beat the crap out of you when this is over!" Gareth threatens, at the same time deflecting Cheryl's sword.

"I can't–"

"Yes you can, Travis!" I shout at him, but he still looks doubtful. Damn it. The other team could be stealing our flag right this minute. We're so going to lose. Katie's going to kill us–and then inspiration hits me.

"Travis, if you get that flag and we win, I'll get Katie to kiss you!" I have no idea how, but he doesn't need to know that. I'll figure it out later.

Travis' eyes widen, and the next second he's scampering up the tree like he was born to climb. He seizes the flag and drops back down to the ground, immediately taking off toward the boundary line.

Thalia, who is very much aware of the fact that Cheryl has no chance of fighting off Gareth and then stopping Travis from making it back to our side, uses her spear to twist my sword out of my hand. I falter as I realize I recognize the maneuver. It's a variation of a disarming technique that Luke once tried to teach me, and, oddly enough, Cheryl.

My hesitation is all Thalia needs. She once again slams her shield into my chest. I hit the ground, inwardly cursing whoever gave her that version of Aegis. That shield is really damn hard. Cheryl witnesses the entire thing and, unable to resist, shouts out a (mean-spirited) taunt.

"Take _that_, Dess! Maybe you should've tried to learn more from Luke than how to play tonsil hockey! Thalia totally just kicked your butt!" she gloats, like I didn't already know that last part.

Unfortunately for Cheryl, her words make Thalia freeze in place. She stares at me with disbelieving eyes.

"What is she _talking _about?" Thalia demands.

Oh, crap. I stand up and vaguely wonder why I didn't wear electric-proof armour. If it even exists. Travis pauses and looks back uncertainly like he's unnerved by the fact that no one is chasing after him while brandishing some sort of deadly, sharp object.

"Um, well, you see–I, uh–" I trip over my words, and then quickly decide to do the smart thing. I wheel around and take off like a bat out of Hades. Wait, do they have bats in the underworld? Yes, I know, that's a stupid question. Just forget I asked.

By the time Thalia comes to the conclusion that she should run after me, I've caught up with Travis. Following the original plan, he hands me the flag and hangs back to take on Thalia.

I glance over my shoulder and am glad to see that Gareth has Cheryl in a headlock. Unfortunately, Travis doesn't even have time to lift his sword before Thalia knocks him flat. Knowing that there's no one to slow Thalia down, I speed up.

I remember Luke telling me once that Thalia is a really good long-distance runner. Not that I know much about it, but I figure that means running at a steady pace. She's probably used to running really fast occasionally (being a daughter of Zeus and constantly stalked by monsters means she pretty much has to be), but even so, she's probably more used to running at a moderate speed. I, on the other, am used to always pushing my body to the limit, going as fast as I possibly can. So I'll most likely be able to outrun her. The problem is that the rest of her team is eventually going to notice me.

And sure enough, just as I catch sight of the boundary line, several Apollo kids catch sight of _me_, holding their flag in my hand. They race towards me, but the demigods on my team who were part of the frontal assault are all gathered here, so they intercept the children of the sun god.

So I'm safe from them–and, I realize, Aphrodite's children who are sitting off to the side, fixing their make-up and their hair or staring at their own reflection in the creek. Well, except for Silena. I don't know where she is. Come to think of it, I don't where Pollux, Castor, Percy, and Annabeth are either.

I dash towards the line, and at almost exactly the same instant, Annabeth appears, holding our flag. But I'm closer than she is, and faster. Percy and the twins are fighting off Katie, and Jake and a few of the other people who were on border patrol. I feel a little uneasy as I wonder where Silena and Sherman are, but I push the thought out of my mind and focus on my goal.

I'm so close now. In movies this is usually the part where something completely unrealistic happens and I somehow lose. But this is real life (never mind that in real life kids don't play capture the flag with swords), and I make it our side and win the game.

Cheers explode from the blue team while the demigods on the red team groan. Annabeth stops running and drops the flag to the ground, looking very putout. Pollux, Castor, and Percy look just as disappointed.

I on the other hand, am elated. I can't believe I–we–actually pulled this off. I look down at the now steel grey banner with a hammer on it. You know, I kind of liked it better when it was purple. Whatever, as long it doesn't represent Dionysus anymore, I'm happy.

I can see Jake bounding towards me, a smile stretching across his face the way a rainbow stretches across the sky. I take step in his direction, my lips automatically pulling up at the corners the second I see his joyful expression.

Then a hand wraps around my elbow. I whirl around and instantly feel the blood drain from my face. Thalia is standing there, her features twisted with absolute fury. Gareth and Cheryl run up behind her, both looking worried.

"Hey, uh, I think it's party time, so maybe you could, uh, postpone this conversation 'til later?" Gareth suggests.

Thalia glances over her shoulder at him, and the expression on her face makes him shudder. After the daughter of Zeus has turned back toward me, Cheryl mouths the word 'sorry' to me. Yeah, I'll just _bet_ she's sorry.

Thalia tightens her grip on my arm and starts towing me away from the mass of confused campers. Her eyes wide with alarm, Annabeth breaks away from the crowd and follows us. Jake attempts to do the same, but Gareth restrains him.

"Hey, wait a second," I protest to Thalia. "Where are we going?"

"Somewhere where we can talk in private," she replies curtly, and still dragging me along.

I toss the flag to my brothers, worried that if I keep it with me Thalia will accidentally set it on fire. Gareth catches it, still looking concerned. He murmurs something to Jake, who is glaring daggers at Thalia's retreating figure.

Thalia continues to haul me after her even when we're out of view of the other campers. She finally stops when we reach the stables and the Armory. Annabeth hovers a safe distance away, her gaze fixed on Thalia and me, watchful and wary.

Thalia releases me and I massage my arm, trying to get my blood circulating properly again.

"Sorry," Thalia mutters, staring out at the strawberry fields in the distance. "Didn't mean to cut off your blood flow."

"It's fine." Which is totally not what I wanted to say, but at this point pissing her off even more would just be suicidal. "It's not like I'm going to have to amputate it or anything."

Thalia ignores this. Then she abruptly turns to face me. "What exactly did Cheryl mean? You didn't–you didn't _date_ him, did you?"

I keep silent.

"How long were you–I mean _when_ did you–"

"January, a couple of years ago. We were both seventeen."

"And you two were together 'til he left last summer?"

I nod.

Thalia looks stunned for a second. Then the anger surfaces. "Why the hell didn't you _tell_ me?"

I don't know whether it's the stress of always worrying about Apollo's note in the back of my mind, or if it's the build up of jealousy toward Thalia, or if it's just the fact that my blood still isn't circulating properly, but her question makes me explode.

"Because it's none of your business! Why the Hades _would_ I tell you?"

"Because it involves Luke! Of course it's my business!" Thalia snaps back, electricity flickering across her palms.

"So _what_? So it involves Luke! Is there a law that says you have to know every single damn thing about his life?" I shout at her.

"He's my _friend_! My _best_ friend! I knew a thousand times better than you _ever_ did–"

I feel like I've been slapped across the face. Because she's _right_. She did know him better. But the last thing I need is her pointing this out to me, and the only thing I can really do is contradict her, even though she's telling the truth.

"Really?" I interrupt her. "You knew him better? You haven't seen him in what, six years? People change. Luke changed. He's not the boy you knew when you were twelve."

Far from appearing hurt by my admittedly cruel words, she simply looks defiant. "Yes, he is. I don't care what everyone else says. I don't care what _you_ say. If you cared about him even half as much as I did, you wouldn't believe all that shit about him joining Kronos!"

That's going too far. Does she think I _want _to believe that? Doesn't she know I would do absolutely _anything_ to be able to put my faith in him again? She doesn't understand. She didn't see what he did to Percy, what he almost did to camp and all of civilization.

"Are you _stupid_ or something? All that 'shit' about him joining Kronos is _true_. For Hephaestus' sake, he poisoned your tree!" It's a low blow, but she needs to get the point through her abnormally thick head. There's a chance she might end up in the same situation I was in last summer, when Luke was asking me to join him. She needs to understand that he's not the good guy anymore.

"He knew you guys would get the Fleece! He did all that stuff because he wanted me back! You said so yourself!"

I stare at her, and for a second I'm tempted to tell her that he only wanted her back so she could take Percy's place in the prophecy. But the expression on her face… She so desperately wants to believe what she's saying. And no matter how angry I am, I can't lie to her and tell her she's wrong. That would make me as bad as Mr. D.

"Listen. I know what I said, and I was telling the truth. But the fact is that Luke _is_ on Kronos' side. And if you don't believe me, then ask Annabeth," I say, jerking my head towards the blond girl who is quickly approaching us.

"Thalia, Dess is right," Annabeth says softly. "I'd give anything to change that, but I can't."

Thalia finally nods, but I can tell she hasn't been completely disillusioned.

She takes a deep breath as if to calm herself and says, "Then back to original point of the argument– Why didn't you tell about your relationship with Luke? And don't tell me it's none of my business," Thalia adds quickly, "because it is. I mean, I spent _hours_ pestering you for info on what happened while I was gone, and I spent just as long prattling on about how _nice_ it was to talk to someone who was _unbiased_ towards Luke, because I thought you didn't _know _him, and obviously you _did_. Do you know how _stupid_ I feel right now?"

It's my turn to stare out at the strawberries. "So I knew him. So I dated him. Does it really matter? It's in the past; it's done, it's over." I look back at her, hating the bitterness in my voice.

Thalia seems to deflate a little. The anger is still there, but there's also a hint of pity in her gaze. Fabulous. That's just what I wanted. Pity. As if I don't get enough of that from the Aphrodite and the Hermes cabin (except for Silena, Cheryl, and the Stolls).

"I still deserved to know. He and I were–" She stops short.

"What? You were what?" I ask her, my voice far too calm.

"Friends," she repeats quietly, not meeting my eyes. "We were friends."

"Fine. Whatever. So you know now. Are we done here?"

She stares at me. "Did you lov–"

I cut her off. "I'm going to go join in the celebrations. I'll see you two around, I guess."

Thalia knows better than to argue. Annabeth gives me a sad, sympathetic smile. We both know that I'm not going to be spending a lot of time with either girl in the near future. Thalia is still ticked, and Annabeth… Well, I still care about Annabeth a lot, but to be honest, we don't hang out as much as we used to. It's hard for both of us to even just sit next to each other, because it will always feel like there's a gaping hole between us where Luke should be. Plus Annabeth has given up on trying to teach me Ancient Greek. I'm hopeless.

I think about that as I walk back into the forest where I'm sure the blue team (blue is so much cooler than red; and I'm not just saying that because I'm on the blue team, even though whenever I'm on the red team I say red is cooler) is still partying.

I was right. I'm completely obsessed with Luke now. He's ruining everything good in my life. He's changing my opinions of people. Before Luke ditched camp, I just thought Percy Jackson was a bit of a loser (even though he saved the world), but I didn't dislike him. I used to think that if I had somehow gotten the chance to meet Thalia, we would be friends. Now any possibility of friendship is gone. Once upon a time, Annabeth and I would sit in the shade and talk or, if we were really bored, braid each other's hair. Now we can barely look at each other half the time.

Hell, the only other time I can remember things being _this_ awkward between us is the time when I had to explain to her why her underwear were suddenly all stained with blood. You would think a daughter of the wisdom goddess would already know what was happening to her, but no. Her regular schooling ended when she was seven, and Chiron never bothered to prepare her for the inevitable.

You know, it wasn't even the talk with Annabeth that was awkward. It was more what happened before that…

* * *

_"–so then this _empousai_ appeared out of nowhere, and I took out my sword and–Annabeth what's wrong?" Luke stops bragging about all the monsters he's defeated the second he catches sight of Annabeth's panicked face._

_"I–I'm not sure–" she confesses. "I'm sort of–bleeding–I think–"_

_"Bleeding?" Luke looks alarmed. "What happened?"_

_"I–I don't know," she admits, sounding incredibly frustrated. _

_"Well, just show us where–" Luke begins, but Annabeth instantly blushes and shouts "NO!" so loudly that several dryads poke their heads out of their trees._

_Luke is shocked. "Listen, honey, we can't help you if we don't know where–" _

_"I–I _can't_ show you where– Look, just forget I said anything. I'm sure it's not that big of a deal, it's probably nothing." Her face is growing redder by the second._

_Luke still looks taken aback by her outburst and concerned by the fact that she's apparently wounded. I don't really blame him; if _I_ had an eleven year old sister that was hurt but refused to tell me where her injury was, I'd be freaking out._

_Wait a second. Eleven years old…_

_"Oh," I say, realization sinking in. I'm not entirely sure, but I certainly can't ask in front of Luke. Annabeth would probably die of embarrassment._

_"Listen, kid, just head over to my cabin and wait there for me. My brothers are all at the forges, so the place is empty. I think I know what's wrong. I can help you," I tell her kindly, my voice a lot gentler than it usually is, probably because she looks so frightened and embarrassed. Plus I remember what it was like for me. And for all I know, she might be having cramps right now._

_"Thanks, Dess," Annabeth says, too relieved to tell me off for calling her 'kid'. She takes off toward the cabins._

_I turn to Luke, knowing that he's not going to let me go until I've explained what's wrong with his (sort of) little sister._

_"I think she's having a feminine emergency, but it's not a big deal. She'll be fine," I assure him._

_This just seems to further perplex him. "Feminine emergency? What are you talking about? Is she having some sort of make-up crisis? Styx, she doesn't even _wear_ make-up."_

_Oh. Well I guess not everybody uses that term._

_"What I meant is that it's her time of the month," I explain._

_Luke rolls his eyes and speaks, his tone patronizing, "Dess, I hardly think she's been turned into a _werewolf_. We don't even have any at camp."_

_Okay. So I guess that term isn't so common either._

_I decide to use the official terminology. Surely he knows _that_. "She's started menstruating."_

_He stares at me blankly._

_Oh. My. Gods. "As in she's on her period?" I try._

_He continues to stare._

_I snap, losing what little patience I have. "As in the lining of her uterus is deteriorating and blood is pouring out of her vagina!"_

_"Oh." Luke's face is even redder than Annabeth's was._

_"Yeah, _oh_. For Zeus' sake, Luke, didn't you learn this in school?"_

_"I ran away when I was nine!" he protests, his tone defensive._

_"But you told me you managed to talk your way into whatever school happened to be in the area you were in," I counter. "I heard you tell Chiron that you continued your education while you were on the run."_

_Luke coughs. "Well, I did, but–"_

_I arch my right eyebrow, at the same time placing my hands on my hips. "But what?"_

_"Look, I– It's not my fault, okay!" he bursts out. "I listened to the teacher explaining how babies are _conceived_, but when she got to the specifics of the sperm and the egg and all that shit, I only paid attention to male part, okay?"_

_Seized by an overwhelming desire to laugh at his obvious discomfort, I decide it's time to find Annabeth. Kid's probably going out of her mind with worry right now._

_"Whatever, Luke. I'm going to go help Annabeth. And if you _ever_ tell her that I told you where she's bleeding, I'll make sure that you don't have to know how babies form because you won't be able to _have_ babies. Are we clear?" I ask, my voice poisonously sweet._

_Normally he doesn't take my threats seriously–and why would he? He could kick my butt easily–but this time he nods vigorously and replies, "As crystal."_

_I roll my eyes and spin on my heel, muttering the word '_boys_' under my breath._

* * *

When I reach the still partying demigods (well, the blue team is still partying, at least), Jake runs up to me and asks me if I'm okay.

"I'm fine," I assure him. "She didn't fry me or anything."

Off to the side, Clarisse is berating Sherman for almost costing us the game. Apparently the red team sent Silena to charm any male guards by flirting with them in an attempt to distract them. It worked. Sherman didn't even notice when Percy snatched the flag and tossed it to Annabeth.

I glance away from the daughter of Ares and her (as usual) cowering half-brother, only to see Travis Stoll headed in my direction.

When he reaches me he asks, "So Thalia didn't kill you or anything? You're one hundred percent fine?"

I flex my arm experimentally. My blood is flowing correctly again, so that's good. "Yeah, pretty much."

"Right. So, uh since you're okay… Can I ask you something?" His face is oddly hopeful.

"Sure, I guess," I answer, eyeing him suspiciously.

"When are you going to get Katie to kiss me?"

I groan and shove him so hard that he falls right onto his back.

I step over his body, once again muttering "_Boys._" under my breath.

* * *

**Author's Note: I realize the flashback is completely pointless. When I'm done revising this story I'm probably going to take it out (along with some of the other ones, maybe) and put it in a separate story which will basically be a collection of oneshots that taken place in The Keeper of Fate universe or whatever you want to call it. **

**I realize it's unrealistic for Annabeth and Luke to not know what menstruation is. But then again, Annabeth grew up at Camp Half-Blood, and Luke...well, I don't have an excuse for Luke, except that he's a male teenage half-blood who never got a proper education.**

**Anyways, reviews and constructive criticism are appreciated.**


	15. Chiron Brings Home a Body as a Souvenir

**MAIN TITLE: The Keeper of Fate**

**WARNINGS: See first chapter for warnings. Also, this chapter's flashback strongly implies sexytimes (I can't believe I actually just typed that) happening off-screen.**

**NOTES: Thanks to **dreamin'BIG**, **Neela4232**, **KittyKat**, **angel2u**, **DuckInTheHat **and **Guest **for reviewing this chapter!**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own the PJO series. Rick Riordan does.**

* * *

**Chapter 15: Chiron Brings Home a Body as a Souvenir**

"Come on, Dess, take pity on our souls. Look, we even cleaned all the junk food wrappers off the floor! Just give us one extra point. I'm sick of doing kitchen patrol all the time, and so is everyone else. Please?" Connor Stoll actually falls to his knees, clasps his hands together, and begs.

I stare down at the pleading son of Hermes, unmoved. "Too bad. Two out of five. That's final."

"Please, just _one more_ point. Please, Dess? Pretty please with a cherry on top?" Travis joins his brother on the floor. "I mean, you sort of owe me, don't you? 'Cause you promised me you'd get Katie to kiss me, but you never did."

"First of all, that was _weeks_ ago. Second of all, I don't owe you _anything _after that prank you pulled with the ice pack and the ketchup. And lastly, Travis, I don't even _like_ cherries."

"How can you not like cherries?" Travis demands.

"Easy. I just don't like them."

"You're inhuman!" Connor cries. "You're a coldhearted, cherry-hating machine that doesn't take pity on two dashing young men that desperately need your help!"

"I hate to break it to you boys, but the only dashing young man I see in here is Harley." I wink at the undetermined six year old, my lips twitching upward as the little boy blushes and grins at me toothily. That kid reminds of Tyson sometimes. He's so cute.

…Only you can't tell anybody I thought that. Clarisse would laugh at me–if she was here. Which she isn't. She went back to her mom's house a while ago. It's kind of weird, actually. Summer session isn't over, but I guess after that last quest Clarisse decided she wanted a break from all the crazy stuff. I don't blame her. If my mom wasn't a total psycho, I'd probably leave camp for a bit, too.

I exit the cabin, ignoring the Stoll brother's indignant protests. Mr. D's cabin is next, and then Aphrodite's (not looking forward to that), and then my cabin (which will be getting at least a three out of five, no matter how messy it is) and then Apollo's, and then–well, you get the idea.

I grip the papyrus inspection scroll in my hand as I wander over to cabin twelve. This is so not fair. I shouldn't even be doing inspection right now; this is supposed to be the head counsellor's job. Stupid Beckendorf and Gareth and their stupid catapults that need constant attention. Stupid Zeth and his stupid shyness. Stupid Jake and his stupid tendency to blow things up. I tried to tell them I was too biased, but they wouldn't listen.

Whatever. Complaining about it in my head is just going to annoy you, which sounds like fun, but for all I know, you could be a secret assassin that murders people that annoy you.

Anyways, I inspect the cabins, giving Pollux and Castor a four out of five because they're growing pretty purple grapes. Cheryl is in her cabin when I inspect it, but so is Silena. I figure Beckendorf would be pissed if I gave his crush a two, so I give them a four (it would've been five, but taking even just one step into that place makes me feel like I'm walking through a haze of perfume).

The Hephaestus cabin also gets a four, because we're awesome like that. Apollo gets three, because I've been getting really angry at the sun god lately and since I can't punish him for it, I'm taking it out on his kids. Artemis' cabin is empty, so I can't give her a zero even though I want to. Don't even ask why I don't like her. It's a long story.

Athena's kids are neat freaks, so I give them a five (like I could give them anything else with Annabeth, Fiona, and Malcolm all glaring at me). Ares gets a one, because Clarisse isn't here, Isabel is exempt from KP, and Elliot broke my favourite pencil crayon (it was one of those Silly Scent Crayola pencil crayons) which I foolishly let him borrow yesterday.

Demeter gets four, because I still feel kind of guilty about the time when Zeth and I ate Katie Gardner's carrots three years ago. Percy's place is kind of a pigsty because Tyson's not here to clean up, but since I'm making an effort to stop disliking the demigod son of Poseidon, he gets a two. I would've given him a three, but he still doesn't know my name. Hera's cabin is empty, which leaves– Oh, crap. Zeus. Which means Thalia.

Ever since that capture the flag game a few weeks ago, things have been pretty tense between Thalia and I. I mean, she doesn't act like a jerk or anything. She's a good person, I've always known that. But her entire world has been turned upside down since she came out her pine tree, and I get the feeling that she's trying to find out who she is.

Only she's going about it the wrong way. She's defining herself through other people. She's still Annabeth's big sister, no matter what. But she used to be Luke's best friend, and now she's starting to doubt that for the first time in her life. She thought she was my friend–and she was, she really was–but then she found out I've been 'deceiving' her this whole time. She keeps looking at what she is to other people instead of who she is as a person.

And from what I've seen, Thalia's a brave, rebellious, confident young girl who does her best to protect the people she cares about. I've been realizing lately that she's a lot like Jackson. He's the same way. Courageous, defiant, though maybe less self-assured. And he's not female. And he's more of an idiot than Thalia is, but that really goes without saying. Though I will say this for the son of the sea god: however loyal Thalia is, she's got nothing on Percy. That boy would go to the ends of the earth for the people he loves.

I take a deep breath, pulling myself out of my silent reverie. Then I knock on the door of cabin one. It opens and Thalia's standing there, staring at me in surprise. "What are you–"

Quickly, I hold up the scroll in my hand. "Inspection."

"Isn't that the head counsellor's job?" she asks suspiciously, like she thinks I'm lying and I'm really trying to play some sort of prank on her. Which I would never do in a million years. I mean seriously, she has the power to _electrocute_ people.

"Normally, yeah. But the Hephaestus head counsellor was busy," I explain, knowing that she probably doesn't know who Gareth and Beckendorf are. "And none of my other oh-so wonderful brothers volunteered for inspection, so I got stuck with it."

Her doubt fades. "Oh. Okay, then. Come on in, I guess."

So I do. I've never been in Zeus' cabin before, and I have to tell you, just one look around the room makes me glad I don't live here. This place is like a tomb. No beds or desks or anything. Just bronze braziers, statues of eagles, and in the centre of the room, a massive statue of Zeus holding his Master Bolt. His expression seems to say "Obey me or I will incinerate you", which is probably exactly what he would do if someone challenged his authority. Thunder suddenly booms and I jump about a foot in the air. Lightning flashes across the ceiling.

Gods, this place is creepy.

As if reading my mind, Thalia smiles wryly and says, "Home sweet home, huh?"

Trying to regain my composure, I say, "Well, uh, at least it's not messy? …Where exactly do you sleep, anyway?"

An odd expression comes over her face. She looks almost nervous, like she really doesn't want to show me. Taking a deep breath, she walks over to one of the bronze braziers and pushes it aside. There's an alcove; small, but big enough to fit a sleeping bag and her backpack, which is so full it looks like it will burst.

Pointing to it, I ask, "Is that where you keep your clothes?"

She nods.

"Well, you don't have stuff all over the floor, so… Five out of five." I write the number down on the scroll. This is the only time I haven't been biased when inspecting a cabin. Huh.

I'm about to turn and leave, but then something on the wall of the alcove catches my eye. I realize that Thalia's taped up pictures of–what? I move closer and Thalia shuffles her feet uncomfortably. With a sigh, she steps forward and removes two of the pictures. When she's walked back to my side, she hands me the photos.

I stare down at a laughing Luke. He looks like the carefree, mischievious boy that I used to know, but without the shadow of bitterness hidden behind his easygoing manner. Annabeth is sitting beside him at a campfire, and I can almost hear her laughter ringing with innocence and love. The other photo has Thalia in it, and she looks so similar to the girl standing next to me that I feel sorry for her. Luke and Annabeth have both changed so much, but the daughter of Zeus really hasn't.

I hand her back her photos as she watches me carefully. I realize she's waiting for me to explode. But these pictures don't make angry. They just make me sad. They're like a window into an entirely different life; a life that Thalia lost, a life that Thalia had ripped away from her even though it was everything to her.

"I'm sorry, you know," I say suddenly. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about Luke and me. And for all the stuff I said."

Thalia glances at the ceiling, and then meets my eyes. "I'm sorry, too. But I really did feel stupid when I found out. I just–I just kept thinking about how I had been so sure that you were okay with talking about Luke, that it didn't hurt you to talk about him. But it did hurt you, didn't it?"

I swallow hard and then nod. "Yeah. But it's my own fault. Thalia, you needed someone to talk to. I could see that. And it couldn't be Annabeth or Percy or Grover or Chiron, so I thought it had to be me."

"I didn't think about it that way. I didn't realize that you thought you were helping me."

I shrug my shoulders. "So…are we friends again, or…" I let my voice trail off.

"I don't know. Maybe not right away. But someday, definitely. And someday soon. I kind of miss sneaking into the Aphrodite cabin with you and drawing zits on Cheryl's face so that when she wakes up and looks in the mirror she thinks she actually has acne." Thalia grins.

I smile back. "Same. Well, I have to show Chiron the results of the cabin inspections. I hope I'm not anywhere near the Ares cabin when they learn they have kitchen patrol."

Thalia laughs and says, "Well I hope you are. And I hope I'm there, too. That'll be hilarious."

"Thanks," I grumble, rolling my eyes. "I'll see you around."

"Yeah, see you," she replies.

I head over to the door and pull it open. Before I leave, I glance over my shoulder. Something about the sight of Thalia taping her pictures back onto the wall of a tiny alcove in this huge, empty room makes my throat constrict. I turn away and hurriedly exit the cabin. The door swings shut behind me and I blink back tears.

* * *

When I enter the Big House to give Chiron the inspection scroll, he's packing.

My jaw drops. "What the Hades are you _doing_? You're _leaving_? _Why_? You can't leave! I don't want to get stuck with Tantalus as activities director again!" My voice is wild with panic. I am _not_ putting up with that cannibal again.

"Calm yourself, child. I am merely going away on a visit. I will return shortly. Tantalus will not be taking my place," the centaur says soothingly. "Mr. D will, as always, be in charge, and Argus will keep an extra eye on things." As if he doesn't have enough eyes already.

"Fine. But where are you going?" What could possibly be important enough that he needs to leave? It must have something to do with the gods–or camp. That's the only explanation I can think of.

Chiron studies me intently for a moment. "For now, all you need to know is that I am making a…house call, one could say."

"A house call?"

"Yes. I will tell you more when the time comes."

"When the time– What are you talking about?" I ask the old horse man.

"Put it out of your mind for now, my girl, and simply enjoy your summer," Chiron smiles, and then, picking up a small suitcase, wheels himself over to the door.

I follow him outside. Mr. D is on the porch, as is Argus. The wine god sneers at me for a second before turning to Chiron. "Well, have a–" he pauses and then continues "–good time in Phoenix, I guess. Remember, you only have two weeks. I don't want to spend the remainder of my summer babysitting these foolish brats." He throws me a nasty glare.

"Of course, Mr. D. I will do my best to return before that." He nods at Dionysus and gives me one last smile. He switches back to centaur form and canters toward Half-Blood Hill. Argus follows him and since I have no desire whatsoever to stay in Mr. D's company, I head over to the volleyball pit to join the Demeter versus Hephaestus game. The Demeter kids are totally cheating, making plants grow and wrap themselves around my brother's legs. Though I have to admit, I do get a real kick out of seeing Gareth fall flat on his face.

By the time it's my turn to serve, I've already forgotten what Mr. D said about Chiron having a good time in Phoenix (I'm assuming he meant Phoenix, Arizona)–the city where Clarisse's mom lives.

* * *

For the next couple of weeks, I take Chiron's advice and enjoy myself. Pranking Cheryl, hanging out with my brothers, playing capture the flag, and finally attempting to fulfill my promise to Travis (that last part isn't working out so well).

It's a lot easier to have fun knowing that the Fourth of July fireworks have long since passed. I spent the entire time sitting by myself, thinking about how it was the first time I'd watched the fireworks without Luke, so I was pretty miserable.

In a practically suicidal attempt to spite Apollo, I throw away the finished hunter's bow he wanted me to make. Instead I decide to forge something that I'll actually use. I attach little chunks of an amethyst to the anklet I crafted more than a month ago. I wear it all the time now, though I make sure that my brothers don't suspect that I made it.

Annabeth is really curious about why Chiron left. I told her everything he told me, and she's a little worried. See, Chiron only makes house calls if he thinks a child of the Big Three has been found. The last thing we need right now is to find out that either Zeus or Poseidon broke the oath _twice_, or–gods forbid–Hades followed his brothers' leads.

But I can't shake the feeling that this has nothing to do with a new demigod. I feel like I've forgotten to tell Annabeth something important, something that would help her put the pieces together. The problem is, every time I try to remember, the only thing that comes to mind is Dionysus. And that can't be right. I don't think Mr. D has ever said anything useful in the three years I've known him, and if he has, it wasn't in my presence.

Since trying to figure this whole thing out just gives me a headache, for the most part I just put it out of my mind and focus on other things. Thalia and I have been getting along a bit better lately, though that could be because we don't spend extended periods of time together. I haven't pulled a prank with her in ages. Still, she smiles when she sees me, so I'm sure things will be back to normal eventually.

The one troubling thing that I can't get out of my head is the fact that Gareth has been dropping hints that he's leaving soon. I know he wants to get out of here; he hasn't left since the winter solstice last year when the bolt was stolen.

He's not the only one thinking about leaving, either. Xavier from the Athena cabin and Elliot from Ares have been considering it, too. Actually, I think they've all been talking about getting an apartment together. They get along well enough, although Elliot is a couple years younger–he's Luke's age. He used to be pretty good friends with Luke. They used to do what Luke called 'guy stuff' together, which I figured meant they looked at pictures of half-naked girls and occasionally drank a couple of beers. Or, you know, they might've just stayed up all night playing Xbox. Wouldn't surprise me.

I didn't really care what they did, as long as Luke didn't discuss our sex life with Elliot. I know that's probably what normal guys do when they hang out, but I had to draw the line somewhere.

Sometimes I wonder, though, if maybe being normal was more important to Luke than I thought. I mean, despite his failed quest he once convinced Chiron to let him take me out into the mortal world for our one year anniversary, so we could do the things regular couples do on their anniversary.

I usually try not to think about that day–and that night–, but sometimes I can't help it. The memory haunts me. It bothers me, knowing that my first time was with him, knowing that I somehow can't bring myself to regret it.

* * *

_I'm practically bouncing with excitement as I pull the tube closer to the slopes. _

_Luke laughs. "You know, I'm starting to think I shouldn't have brought you here. The idea of you going down a hill at fifteen miles an hour is a scary thought."_

_"Why? Because I might get hurt?"_

_"I was actually thinking about the damage you would do to other people, but that too," Luke teases._

_I punch him. "If you're so worried, than go with me the first time."_

_"Sure thing." He smiles, his eyes meeting mine, and suddenly I'm glad that I won't be able to look directly at him when we're going down the actual hill. Otherwise I might let go of the handle on his tube, and that would probably be a disaster._

_We push our tubes together, plop down on them, and grab one handle from each tube. An operator person comes over and nudges our tubes toward the slope. My excitement is building the closer we get. Finally we go over the edge, and then we're flying down the hill, and snow is whipping in my face, and then suddenly we've stopped._

_For a second I just lie there, and then I pick myself up off the ground. Luke is already standing, shaking snow out of his hair. He grins at me, his eyes gleaming, and my heart aches. As if reading my mind, he grabs my hand. We're both wearing gloves, so I don't feel his actual skin, but it's good enough._

_He tows me towards the path leading back to the lift. We drag our tubes behind us. When we've reached the path and we're out of the way of the other tubers (at least I think that's what they're called), Luke stops and turns to me. _

_"Well? What do you think? Did you like it?" His cheeks are flushed with excitement. He looks completely and utterly _alive_, more so than I've ever seen him._

_"I got snow in my face, and my hair is all messed up, and my hands hurt from gripping the handles."_

_"Oh." His face falls. _

_"…Luke?"_

_"Yeah, Dess?" he responds dully, his voice filled with disappointment. I can see that he really wanted me to enjoy myself._

_"…Can we go again?" _

_He grins again, and then we race down the path to the lift._

_We go down the hill at least ten more times, sometimes separately and sometimes together. Eventually we leave, partly because we're hungry and partly because it's closing time. We came pretty late in the day, about an hour before they close, because there are less people._

_Luke steals a car (don't look at me like that; we'll give it back) and then drives around for a while. Eventually he parks the car. He leaves the door unlocked and the keys on the front seat. We walk a couple blocks until we come to a restaurant. After assuring me that he's actually going to pay for the meal and we're not just going to take off the second we're done eating, I sit down._

_We order food, and we eat, and we talk, and for the first time in a long time I feel normal. I'm an ordinary teenage girl on a date with a guy I'm crazy about. Luke plays with the bracelet on my wrist under the table and looks at me like he's thinking the same thing. _

_Luke, despite my doubts, keeps his word and pays. I don't feel too bad about this, because this restaurant isn't really expensive. It's not one of those really fancy ones where you have to book a reservation in advance. You can just walk in and order, which I like a lot better._

_After we leave I'm a little worried that Luke's going to steal another car, but instead we just walk another few blocks. I wonder where we're going now, because it's already past ten and it'll take us like two hours to get back to camp (assuming we drive; taking public transport will take at least another hour, and walking…well, we're not walking, no matter what). _

_When we reach the hotel, I realize that we're not going back to camp tonight. I glance at Luke out of the corner of my eye, and I wonder why my heart is suddenly beating so fast and why my face suddenly feels hot. The answer becomes pretty clear when he books only one room–with only one bed._

_I think he realizes I'm freaking out in my head, because he tells me that we don't have to share the bed. He tells me he doesn't mind sleeping on the floor, which is bullshit. He so doesn't want to sleep on the floor._

_"No, it's fine, we can share the bed," I say, but I can't look him in the eye._

_We find the room we were assigned (which has a bathroom attached to it, thank the gods), and after a quick game of rock-paper-scissors we decide I get to shower first. _

_"I'll probably be at the pool table when you're done," he says._

_"Okay."_

_He leans in and gives me a quick kiss on the cheek. "Love you."_

_"Yeah. Same." _

_He heads back down the stairs to where the pool table is–and where they serve drinks. Suddenly I'm very glad he's only eighteen and no one will sell him alcohol. Though I wouldn't be surprised if he just stole a bottle._

_Shaking my head at my thoughts, I wander into the bathroom and take my shower. I take a long time, mostly because I keep freaking out about the fact that I'm soon going to be sharing a bed with Luke, something I've never done before. Eventually I get out and start to dry myself off with one of the blood red towels that the hotel people provided. I wrap it around my body and exit the bathroom, wishing I had brought my clothes in with me. It's not like it matters, though. No one else is here. Luke is probably still playing pool._

_I'm in the process of gathering my clothes when someone knocks on the door._

_"Dess? Are you okay? You've been in there for like an hour." Of course it's Luke._

_My mouth it suddenly dry, and my clothes are slipping out of my hands. I don't bother to pick them up again._

_"Dess, seriously, are you okay?"_

_I don't respond. I can't. _

_"…Dess, this isn't funny. You're scaring the shit out of me."_

_I want to tell him I'm fine, but my voice won't work._

_"Dess, if you don't say something in the next five seconds, I'm opening the door." I can tell from his voice that he'll go through with it._

_"Five, four–" this is the part where I'm supposed to interrupt "–two, one."_

_He opens the door, and when he catches sight of me standing there, completely unharmed, the worry on his face quickly melts into fury._

_"What the hell is _wrong_ with you? Why didn't you just answer me? I thought some monster had somehow gotten in and killed you! I thought you were injured, or unconscious, or _dying_–"_

_He stops, as if he's too livid to speak anymore. He looks at me then, really looks at me, and his angry expression abruptly vanishes. It occurs to me that my hair is dripping wet and thrown over my shoulder. My locks are pure black from the water, and they make my skin look a lot paler than usual. Or maybe it's the eye-catching red towel. _

_I don't know what to feel. I'm standing here clad only in a towel, and Luke's staring at me like he never wants to look away. Luke reaches back to grip the doorknob. My breathing is suddenly too shallow. Luke swallows hard, and I suddenly realize that maybe he's more nervous than I am._

_I take a small step toward him. Just one step, but it seems to give him confidence. He tugs lightly on the doorknob and then lets go. He walks over to me as the door starts to swing shut. He brushes my hair back and leans in to kiss me._

_If someone had been looking into the room through the doorway, the last thing they would have seen before the door closed was the blood red towel falling to the floor._

* * *

I walk through the strawberry fields, stopping only when I reach Dionysus' twins. They're sitting on the ground, making the plants grow. As I watch, Castor reaches out to touch a deformed, dull-red strawberry; it instantly takes on the shape and colour of a healthy strawberry.

"Hey, guys."

They glance up simultaneously when they hear me speak. "Hey, Dess," Pollux says. "What's up?"

"The sky. Duh. Anyways, Castor, Bridgette wanted to see you at the amphitheater. And Pollux, Annabeth told me to tell you that your dad is at the climbing wall and is two seconds away from vaporizing Percy Jackson and Grover Underwood. Again. She wants you to try and calm him down," I say, and Pollux groans while Castor grins.

"Thanks, Dess," they say in unison, though Pollux's tone is more annoyed than happy.

They wander off in the direction of the amphitheater and the climbing wall. As I start to follow them, I glance toward the Big House absent-mindedly. Then I freeze in my tracks. Unless I'm suddenly hallucinating, Chiron and Clarisse were just carrying an unconscious boy into the huge blue farmhouse.

Pollux and Castor look back at me. "Are you coming?"

"I– No, I have something I have to do right now, I'll see you guys at dinner or something…" I respond vaguely.

They glance at each other and shrug their shoulders. Then they continue walking.

I wait impatiently until they've disappeared from view. Then I turn on my heel and sprint towards the Big House. When I reach it I hesitate. Surely they won't allow me to simply walk in. They looked like they didn't want to be seen. I remember what Chiron said: _"I will tell you more when the time comes."_

But I'm curious. I want to know who that boy was. I want to know why Clarisse is back. Experimentally, I try the door handle. It's locked. I don't move. I stare at the door for a long moment, deliberating, until at last I decide to simply return to my cabin.

As I walk away, I glance up at the attic. Nothing moves, nothing stirs, but I can't shake the feeling that someone is watching me. I start to walk faster. Finally I can't take it anymore. I run, and I run, and I run, until I've left the mummy in the attic far, far behind.

* * *

**Author's Note: I'm sure you guys can guess what's going on with Chiron, Clarisse, and the unconscious boy, and if you can't then I've epically failed at giving hints.**

**Reviews are appreciated. **


	16. We Find Out Luke's Evil Master Plan

**MAIN TITLE: The Keeper of Fate**

**WARNINGS: See first chapter for warnings.**

**NOTES: Thanks to **KittyKat**, **angel2u**, **wolveshill**, **Fangisnotmyfirstname**, **bookluver100**, **WinterDreamers.x**, **DuckInTheHat**, **Neela4232**, **Apollo06**, **mysticoriginals **and **FallenAngel10086 **for reviewing this chapter!**

**In response to **Apollo06**'s review: The reason Dess hates Artemis will be explored later in the story. For now all I'm going to say is it has to do with Dess' beliefs/morals/values/whatever, Artemis never didn't anything to harm Dess personally, and Dess is being too harsh and judging Artemis without looking at all the facts.**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own the PJO series. Rick Riordan does.**

* * *

**Chapter 16: We Find Out Luke's Evil Master Plan**

"You sure she's not going to wake up?" It's a whispered question, but it in the silence of the quickly approaching dawn it sounds like a battle cry.

"Dead sure. That girl could sleep through an explosion." I respond a little more quietly, but the effect is the same. Damn. This isn't going to work if they hear us coming.

"Really?" Thalia asks, her hushed voice taking on a tone of surprise. "I always thought that was a child of Hypnos thing."

"It is."

I'm itching to end this conversation and get up from where I'm crouching beneath the windowsill of cabin ten. Now, normally if you don't want to be heard, the _last_ place you want to be is directly under the window. But we want to make sure everyone's asleep, so this is the best we can do without actually going _into_ the cabin.

"So Cheryl's just the exception?"

"…Okay, you caught me." I make a face, unsure if telling her the truth is really a good idea. "She's actually a really light sleeper–when she hasn't unknowingly ingested sleeping pills."

Thalia opens her mouth and then closes it, apparently too appalled to speak.

"…Don't look at me like that," I gripe. "I promise I didn't give her an unhealthy amount."

"So you only gave her the regular dosage?" Thalia asks suspiciously.

"Well, no," I admit. "She's a half-blood. I had to give her double for it to have any effect on her whatsoever. But I swear on the River Styx that it won't do her any harm."

I squirm uncomfortably under Thalia's hard stare. Eventually she just sighs and rolls her eyes. "All right, I believe you. Now let's shut up and get to work."

* * *

We exit the cabin not five minutes later, still half gagging from the overwhelming scent of perfume. Honestly, those Barbie wannabes use so much it's literally vomit inducing, as is the overall orderliness of the entire cabin. I mean, they colour-code _everything_–their clothes, their bed sheets, their _furniture_– It's absolutely nauseating.

I'm so glad I'm out of there. Though if I want to film Cheryl's reaction to finding a mess of red hair on her pillow when she wakes up (which should be in an hour or two; those sleeping pills only last so long, after all), I'll have to enter the Aphrodite cabin again. I managed to convince Thalia that she should go in and record it for me, but then she pointed out that it won't be the same as actually watching Cheryl freak out.

Sigh. I hate it when she's right. Only I can't _tell_ her that, because we've only just started pulling pranks together again, and I don't want to rock the boat. Yeah, Thalia finally got over what happened. Which is good, you know, 'cause we've only got like a week and a few days left before summer ends. Thalia's going to some all girls' school in the city with Annabeth, so I won't see her–them–again until Christmas at the earliest.

I, of course, will be staying at camp all year. Like I always do. You know, this whole 'camp twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, fifty-two weeks a year' thing is getting really old really fast. Maybe I should tag along with Gareth and the others when they get their apartment?

On second thought, that's a horrible idea. They wouldn't want to live with me. And I sure as Hades wouldn't want to live when them. I mean, they're all _guys_. Which automatically means they're all slobs. …Wait, I take that back. Not all guys are messy. Heck, I'm probably messier than Gareth, Xavier, and Elliot _combined_.

Whatever. I still don't want to live when them. Which means I'm stuck here. For forever. Until I die. It's funny, though. I never minded the thought of staying here for the rest of my life so much when I was with Luke…

Anyways, the point is, Thalia forgave me and we're finally pranking again. We're actually using the prank I wanted to pull weeks and weeks ago when Clarisse first brought back the Golden Fleece. You know, the one where we put the wig on Cheryl's pillow and she wakes up, sees it, and thinks she's been scalped? …You don't remember? You need to learn to pay attention (which is a load of bull coming from me, but whatever).

"I'm going to head back to my cabin, 'kay? It'll be a while before Cheryl wakes up so I might as well get some sleep in the meantime."

Thalia yawns. "Yeah, that's probably a good idea. I'll see you in a while."

"Yeah. See you."

We part ways, going to our respective cabins to get some rest before all hell breaks loose.

* * *

When I thought of this prank, I always pictured Cheryl's reaction to be something like a hurricane of hysteria. And Cheryl certainly doesn't disappoint. By the time Thalia and I realize she's woken up and make our way to cabin ten, the daughter of Aphrodite is running around screaming like a chicken with it's head cut off (except that chickens can't really scream even when their heads are firmly attached to the rest of their body). The best part is that she's pulling at her hair the entire time, and yet she never realizes that the fact that there's hair to pull means she isn't bald.

The problem is that Cheryl eventually calms down (after several of her siblings kindly reassure her that she isn't bald) and figures out that Thalia and I are the ones responsible for the blood red wig on her pillow. This might be because we're standing in the doorway, me holding up Katie Gardner's video camera while Thalia is pointing at Cheryl, both of us laughing uncontrollably.

The second that Cheryl turns to us with murder in her eyes, we book it. I run even faster than I did at that capture the flag game. I run so fast that pretty soon Cheryl is out of sight. When I reach the Big House I pause to catch my breath. In the back of my mind it occurs to me that I don't even remember jumping over the river on my way here. Heck, I don't even remember deciding to go the Big House at all.

Once my lungs have stopped burning I recall that Thalia was also being chased by Cheryl. Crap. What if they catch her and give her a makeover? She'll kill me. But I can't go back for her, 'cause then I'd get a makeover, too.

Maybe I should take loyalty lessons from Percy. I can just imagine that: "All right, person who's name I don't know, welcome to 'How to be a decent friend and not abandon people in their time of need 101'. For our first lesson we will be doing trust exercises; you're going to let yourself fall and I'm not going to catch you. By doing this you will learn how much it sucks when people fail you and you will therefore be less inclined to fail people..."

Okay, so he wouldn't actually talk like that. I doubt he even knows what the word 'inclined' means. And I've never heard him say the word 'therefore' before (though that could be because I never talk to him).

For a while I amuse myself with the idea of Percy handing out quizzes in to his imaginary class. "Now remember class, this quiz is worth eighty percent of your final grade, so try not to bomb it, okay?

"First question: You have a dream about your male friend running for his life from a Cyclops while wearing a wedding dress. You: A) laugh your head off and decide not to take the dream seriously; B) keep an entirely straight face and tell the dream version of your friend that you really think he could've done better, and _then_ decide not to take the dream seriously; C) take the dream very seriously and rush off to save your friend with the help of your two sidekicks (AKA your brain and your brother); or D)…"

Yeah, my mind is a messed up place. Which is why it shouldn't surprise you that if I actually had to take that quiz, I would choose option A. Seriously, when Annabeth told me a couple of weeks ago about the dream Percy had about Grover and Polyphemus and the wedding shop, I burst out laughing, even though I knew that Grover had been in real danger.

Well, I guess that means I would fail Jackson's crash course in reliability.

Just as I think this a hand grabs my arm. Before I even have time to turn a sarcastic voice behind me is speaking: "Thanks, Dess, for being such a _good_ friend and running off without making sure I'm okay."

"Sorry," I say sheepishly. "I sort of forgot about you. You know, kind of busy running for my life?" I attempt a smile.

Thalia glares back. Electricity is flickering across her palms and since her hand is still on my arm, mild shocks are running up and down my skin. Mild, but they hurt just a little. I guess I deserve that.

"Look, I really am sorry, okay?"

"Uh, not okay. But I will _temporarily_ refrain from electrocuting you because Cheryl is probably going to catch up to us soon, and if we're still here…"

"Oh, Styx, you're right. What do we do?" I panic.

"Let's try the door to the Big House. We can make up some lame excuse for why we're there."

I relax. That's a good plan. Cheryl won't bother checking the farmhouse. She doesn't like going in there because she's afraid she might run into Mr. D.

We hurry up the porch steps, deciding that there's no point in trying to sneak in. I reach for the door handle. _Please don't be locked. _My hand closes around it._ Please don't be locked._ I pull on it. _Please don't be–_oh, wait. It's opening. _Thank the gods–except for Dionysus, and Apollo, and Artemis, and Aphrodite._

I pry the door open all the way. Thalia steps over the threshold and I follow. The door clicks shut behind us as we glance around the (thankfully) empty room. Chiron is probably teaching some kid archery, and Mr. D…well, I don't really care where he is, as long as he's not here.

"So we just have to sit back and wait until Cheryl passes by, and then we can leave," Thalia concludes.

But of course, that's not how it happens.

We take turns crouching behind the door, occasionally opening in and popping our heads out to see if Cheryl is around. After about five minutes of this, when it's Thalia's turn to be lookout, I get bored. Like, really bored. I move my foot in circles, watching the amethysts on my anklet glint whenever they catch the sunlight streaming through the small gaps in the window blinds.

When I finally can't take it anymore, I wander down the hallway. Probably not the smartest thing to do, 'cause I'll be in a lot of trouble if someone catches me, but I wouldn't really be me if I didn't do something incredibly stupid every so often.

As I reach the stairs I recall what I saw when I went to retrieve Mr. D's twins. I haven't really thought about it since, but now that I'm actually _in_ the Big House, I feel an overwhelming urge to poke around and find out who that boy that Clarisse and Chiron were carrying was.

Then I remember that brief second when I felt someone watching. I hesitate with my foot on the bottom step of the stairs. Whoever that boy was, he's probably up on one of the upper floors. But the farther up I go, the closer I am to the attic–and to the Oracle.

"Dess!" Thalia hisses, coming up behind me. "What are you _doing_?"

"Nothing, I was just–" I freeze as I hear a shout from below.

We walk around to the stairs leading down to the basement. I can just barely hear someone scream "How dare you!" Thalia and I exchange a startled glance. That was Clarisse's voice.

Without stopping to think, I charge down the stairs, leaving Thalia no choice but to follow.

* * *

The last thing I expect to see upon bursting unceremoniously into the basement is Clarisse about to be strangled by vines while Mr. D cackles and Chiron tries to reason with the wine god.

But that's what's happening when Thalia and I reach the bottom of the stairs. Our simultaneous gasps instantly catch everyone's attentions. Dionysus is so taken aback by our sudden appearance that he stops cackling and loses his focus. The vines that were previously suffocating Clarisse loosen their grip and she breaks free. Far from looking grateful, she simply glares at us. Chiron, however, looks extremely relieved.

Mr. D surprise quickly fades. "What are you brats doing here?" He demands.

"We heard people shouting, _sir_, and we decided to investigate," Thalia says.

Chiron raises an eyebrow. A stern look is replacing the relief on his face. "You heard us shouting from all the way outside?"

I cough slightly. "Well, no. We were sort of, uh, _avoiding_ Cheryl. She's a bit–_annoyed_ with us at the moment, and we value our lives, and this was the only place to hide, so…"

"I see." Chiron doesn't look too impressed with my explanation. But he doesn't say anything more about it. Instead he turns to Dionysus and says, "Perhaps I could sort out this matter while you return to your pinochle tournament?"

For a second the wine god just glares at Chiron. Then he says sulkily, "Very well, Chiron. You had better deal with this properly. None of this 'sympathy' garbage."

Clarisse rolls her eyes and sneers at Mr. D's back as he exits the basement. Then she turns back to Thalia and me, fury written all over her face.

I inch towards the stairs, at the same time saying. "So, uh, obviously we were interrupting a _very_ important conversation here, so we'll just be goin–"

"You will not be going anywhere," Chiron says firmly. "I had hoped that I would not have to involve you in this matter, Dess. But it is clear to me now that there is no avoiding the will of the Fates."

My skin crawls at the mention of the trio that I once thought was purely mythological. What the Hades is the old horse man talking about? I open my mouth to voice my question, but Clarisse beats me to it.

"What the Hades are you _talking_ about? What does she have to do with–" Clarisse cuts off abruptly and then continues, "This is none of her business. Why would we involve her in all of this?"

"Because we have no choice," Chiron replies. His face is grim. "My dear, you have no idea of the dangers that lay ahead. You cannot hope to undertake this perilous journey alone."

"Then I won't go alone. I'll go with someone else."

"Who would you suggest?" the centaur questions, looking very much like he already knows the answer.

Clarisse gives Thalia an appraising look and then, turning back to Chiron, points at the baffled daughter of Zeus and says, "Her."

Thalia's confusion gives way to irritation. "I'm standing _right here_. And so is Dess. Don't you think you should explain what's going on before you volunteer us for any 'perilous journeys'?"

"You're quite right." Chiron nods. "Let us discuss this upstairs."

I can see there's no point in arguing, and Thalia and Clarisse recognize this, too. We trudge back up the stairs one by one, Chiron in the lead. It's a good thing he's in centaur form. Halfway up the steps I hesitate. Clarisse is supposed to be right behind me, but she's not. I glance over my shoulder.

Clarisse is bending down to talk to someone. I guess that it's the boy they brought in before. I still can't see who he is. I take a step closer. Thalia realizes I'm not following her and she turns, which makes Chiron realize that _she's_ not following _him_. He looks incredibly alarmed as I take another step towards Clarisse.

"Desdemona, come up here at once."

I don't respond to the use of my full name or his whispered command. Instead I continue to move closer to the daughter of Ares and the boy who is curled up into and a ball. He's wrapped up in a thick, woolen blanket, but he's shivering like crazy. He rocks back and forth, muttering words I can't here under his breath. I still can't see his face.

"It's okay," Clarisse murmurs, her voice taking on the same tone that she uses when comforting an upset Isabel.

"No, please, Mary, you can't leave me," he speaks a little louder. Did he just call her _Mary_? "Please don't leave me; I don't want to be alone in this place."

"No, it's okay, I'll be right back, I promise. And you're not in that place anymore," she says, and I realize that the boy doesn't know where he is. "You'll never have to go back in there, I swear."

Thalia reaches forward to pull me back. I shrug her hand off my shoulder and take one final step towards the boy. I have to know who he is. I'm not sure why, but I have to know.

Clarisse gets to her feet and turns. She freezes when she sees we're all still here. The boy grabs her arm and looks up at her, and I see his face for the first time.

No wonder Chiron has been keeping his presence a secret. If there's one thing the campers here hate more than cannibals, it's traitors.

I stare at the boy who looks like he's lost his mind. As complicated as life was before, things are going to be a lot worse with Chris Rodriguez at camp.

* * *

Five minutes later, the four of us are seated around the Ping-Pong table in the rec room. Chiron, who is back in wheelchair form, signals to Clarisse that she should start explaining.

She takes a deep breath. "I left camp early to visit my mother. I needed a break from everything that's been happening." She pauses, and Thalia and I both nod understandingly. "My mom took me on a trip through the desert–it's just something we do. We like to test our endurance, to push our limits. We were planning to stay out there for a few weeks. But then we found Chris. We couldn't figure out how he got there–"

"What do you mean, 'how he got there'?" I interrupt. "He walked there. Or he drove or something."

Clarisse shakes her head. "No. You don't understand. It was blazing hot outside. Chris was wearing his armour. And he had no food or water with him. He didn't even have a map. People don't just wander through the desert with no supplies and no way out."

"All right. So did you figure out how he got there, then?"

Clarisse grimaces. For the first time since I met her three years ago, she looks afraid. "I think so."

"How–" Thalia begins.

The daughter of Ares cuts her off. "I'm getting to that. So we found Chris, but he was in really rough shape. We took him back to my mom's house and we tried to find out what happened. But he wouldn't–or couldn't–tell us. He kept babbling on about certain things–something about a maze and an arena–and string. He mentioned string a lot. I didn't know what to do, so I called Chiron."

She looks at the centaur. He recognizes his cue and takes up the story. "You know the next part. I set off right away. If you remember, Dess, I told you I was making a 'house call'." He chuckles slightly.

"You also told me that you would 'tell me when the time comes'," I remind him.

The humour in his expression drains away. "Ah, yes. I'll get to that later. Back to the story–I traveled to Arizona and tried to get more information out of Chris Rodriguez. He did not tell me much more than he told Clarisse, but I have seen enough in my lifetime that I was able to connect the pieces."

"And?" I ask impatiently. "What is this all about?"

He looks me directly in the eye. "The Labyrinth."

My blood freezes in my veins.

"As in the huge underground maze? The one Daedalus built?" Thalia asks, her face pale.

"The very same."

"But I still don't understand," I complain. "What was he _doing _in there? I thought that place was so confusing it drove people insane! Why would anyone willingly go in there?"

"That's the point." Clarisse laughs bitterly. "He _didn't_ go in willingly. He was ordered to."

"Ordered to…by who?"

I answer Thalia's question before Clarisse can, or before Chiron can point out that it's supposed to be 'whom' and not 'who'.

"By Luke."

Thalia lets out a shocked breath. "So that boy down there…he works for _Luke_?"

"He didn't know what he was getting himself into," Clarisse snaps defensively. "He didn't realize that Luke is a twisted, evil, psychotic–"

Thalia is on her feet in two seconds flat. "He is not!"

"Oh, really? He's _not_ evil? Someone who forces people to do something that could potentially drive them insane just so they can get what they want isn't evil?" Clarisse snarls, and Thalia has no retort.

I don't have one either. But I do have a question. "But what _does _he want? What could he possibly gain by weakening his army by sending his soldiers off to their deaths?"

"A very good question, my dear. I have been asking myself that for weeks. And I have come to a horrific conclusion."

"And that conclusion is?" I urge the centaur to continue.

He smiles bleakly. "Luke is sending his men into the Labyrinth because he wishes to find a way to navigate it. If he does manage to fulfill this goal, he will be able to move his forces across the country faster than he could by water or by air.

"But there is another reason that he wishes to learn the secrets of a Labyrinth. This camp is protected by the pine tree. But the Labyrinth has a mind of its own. The barrier created by the tree does not exist there. Luke knew this camp very well. He knew the forest, perhaps even better than I did. And it is _entirely_ possible that he found an entrance to the Labyrinth within this camp's borders that I did not even know existed."

Thalia weakly collapses back into her seat. I run a shaking hand through my hair.

I swallow hard. "So, if there was an entrance he knew about, and if he found a way to navigate the maze, then he could attack the camp."

"Yes," Chiron says softly.

"But there must be something we can do about it!" Thalia insists.

"There is. Chris mentioned string. We believe he meant Ariadne's string. You know the story, I presume?" Thalia and I both nod, so Chiron continues, "We believe Luke is searching for the string. If he finds it, he will have a guaranteed way to move through the Labyrinth. So our task is clear. We must prevent him from finding the string. Ideally, we must find it ourselves before he does."

"So…you're saying someone would have to go _into_ the Labyrinth. That's the journey you were talking about. You want Clarisse to go into the maze," I realize.

"I do not want anyone to go into the maze," Chiron says, and I can see he's telling the truth. "But we have little choice."

"Is that really the only option? If we found the entrance and destroyed it, that would stop the invasion," Thalia reasons.

Clarisse shakes her head. "I tried that in Phoenix. Used a wrecking ball. The stupid entrance just moved over a bit."

"But–but there's a possibility that there _isn't_ an entrance within the camp's boundaries right?" I half plead.

"There is that possibility," Chiron agrees. "But we cannot take the chance. Whether there is an entrance here or not, Luke is exploring the Labyrinth. His reasons cannot be good. We need someone to venture into the maze and search for clues as to what Luke is after, and information on where the string is. Clarisse has volunteered for this quest. But she cannot hope to go alone." He looks at me.

"So that's what you meant," Thalia says, looking at Clarisse. "You want me to go with you. You need my help."

Clarisse glares for a second, but then she just scowls at her feet and admits, "Yes." She looks back at Thalia. "So will you come?"

"Well," Thalia grins slowly, "it _is_ the best way to get out of going to that boarding school with all those snotty rich girls. Count me in."

"Wait a second," I protest. "If we don't even know if there's an entrance in camp, much less where it _is_ than how are you guys going to get into the Labyrinth?"

"We searched for entrances on the way back to camp," Clarisse explains. "We found a couple in Manhattan. I remember where they are."

Chiron sighs uneasily. "I've told you many times, my dear, that it is too risky. Luke has spies everywhere. He will figure out where you are going. And believe me, he will not allow you to journey into the Labyrinth. What you need," he adds loudly before Clarisse can protest, "is a way to travel to Manhattan and find an entrance without being discovered by the enemy."

"There is no way," Clarisse complains. "So we should just go ahead with the original plan. Thalia and I will–"

"I do not wish for you to take Thalia with you."

Thalia frowns at the centaur. "Why? I'm a better fighter than anyone in this camp. Who could you possibly send in my place?"

Clarisse's face tightens. I think back to what Chiron said, about how he had no choice but to involve me, and suddenly I'm fighting the urge to throw up.

"Dess," he says quietly, but he's not really answering Thalia's question. He's speaking to me, asking me if I'm ready. Which I'm not. At all. I can't go into that maze. I just can't.

"Dess," Thalia repeats incredulously. "You want to send _Dess_ into the Labyrinth instead of _me_? _Why_?"

But I already know the answer. "Because with the way things stand now, you're the prophecy kid. Monsters will be attracted to your scent. With you there, it would only be a matter of time before Luke found out. He'd probably kidnap you or something. He'd try to brainwash you into joining his side."

"I wouldn't–" Thalia begins heatedly.

"I know that," I cut her off. "But he wouldn't just let you skip away after you said no. I doubt he'd kill you, but he certainly wouldn't allow you to go free."

Clarisse frowns. I can tell she hasn't considered this. "Fine," she says. "So Thalia can't go. I'll find someone else. But you're not going in there, Dess."

I'm perfectly fine with that, but Chiron apparently isn't. "She is your only option."

"Why?" Clarisse asks bluntly. "Why are you so determined that she goes on this quest? What help could she possibly be?"

That stings a little. Actually, to be honest, that hurts a _lot_. But surprisingly, I have an answer for this, too. "I _can_ help you on the quest. I can get you into Manhattan without Luke ever realizing you've left camp."

"How?"

I glance around at their faces. Thalia seems honestly disappointed. I think she was looking forward to going on an adventure. Chiron looks half satisfied and half pained. If there was any way that he could go into the Labyrinth instead of us, I know he would. Clarisse looks upset. Why is she so against this? Has she always thought I'm completely useless, or has she just started thinking this now?

Either way, her insistence that I can't help makes me angry. So angry that I decide to reveal my cabin's number one secret.

"By using the Hephaestus tunnels."

* * *

**Author's Note: No flashback this chapter because I wanted to get the plot moving. I know that Clarisse actually goes into the Labyrinth alone, but technically no one ever specifically tells Percy that, so I can pretend. **

**Reviews are appreciated.**


	17. I Survive 'Hug Dess' Day

**MAIN TITLE: The Keeper of Fate**

**WARNINGS: See first chapter for warnings. Also, once again this chapter's flashback strongly implies sexytimes (still can't believe I just typed that) happening off-screen. **

**NOTES: Thanks to **angel2u**, **FallenAngel10086**, **MeganLeBlanc**, **eViLIsabelle**, **Fangisnotmyfirstname**, **Neela4232**, **Hope and love**, **chaSing b0b**, **Kiriva **and **nickiR0x **for reviewing this chapter!**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own the PJO series. Rick Riordan does. I also don't own 'Hard to Concentrate' by the Red Hot Chili Peppers**

* * *

**Chapter 17: I Survive 'Hug Dess' Day**

"You're _sure_ Chiron said you couldn't, right?"

I groan. "For the love of Hephaestus, Annabeth, _I'm sure_."

The blond frowns. "But he tells me _everything_. Why won't he let you tell me what's going on?"

"Because it's dangerous and none of your business, and you're better off not knowing," I explain, impatience leaking into my voice.

Annabeth crosses her arms and glares at me. "I'll find out whether you tell me or not. You know I will."

"Yeah, well tell that to Chiron, not me," I reply, turning away from her. "Listen, have you seen Thalia anywhere? She said she wanted to talk to me before I leave."

Annabeth's expression turns sour at the mention the daughter of Zeus. Every time someone says the girl's name, Annabeth is reminded that while she is left almost entirely in the dark, Thalia knows exactly why Clarisse and I are leaving, and where we're going.

It's not Thalia's fault–or mine–that Chiron won't let us tell the daughter of Athena about the Labyrinth. Personally, I think she could really help us. Clarisse and I know next to nothing about the maze. We're going in blind. If Annabeth was involved, she could probably at least give us a little guidance.

Unfortunately, the second the centaur decided that Clarisse and I would be going on the quest, he decided that absolutely no one else would be told about the Labyrinth. Heck, the only people who are supposed to know that we're even leaving are our siblings. Annabeth, of course, managed to trick Thalia into telling her why we were always hanging around the Big House lately.

It's been a week since I found out about the Labyrinth, but all the planning in the world isn't going to help Clarisse and me. We both know it. Thalia knows it. Chiron knows it. But he still won't let us tell Annabeth. Though he's never really said, everyone knows that Annabeth is his favourite camper. She's like a daughter to him, and what kind of father would want his kid involved in all of this?

So Annabeth will just have to deal with being frustrated at her own ignorance.

"Look, Annabeth, I really _can't_ tell you where I'm going. What I can tell you? It's the kind of place where people get killed. So I'd really appreciate it if you just told me where Thalia is, gave me a goodbye hug, and left me in peace, because honestly? This might be the last time you ever see me."

That's the harshest thing I've ever said to her, and I almost regret it when I see the horrified expression on her now chalk white face. But she needs to know the truth, and I know that she can handle it.

The horror vanishes slowly from her face, but she still looks pale. In an extremely subdued voice, she says, "Thalia's by her tree. Dess–"

"Thanks," I interrupt her. "I'd better go."

I'm about to turn around and walk away, but she launches herself at me and hugs me so fiercely I can barely breath.

She pulls away after a few moments and then says, "Bye. Try not to get yourself killed."

I smile at her. "I'll do my best."

* * *

When I finally reach the top of Half-Blood Hill, Thalia is sitting with her back against the pine tree that was once her. She doesn't seem to notice me until I'm standing directly in front of her, my shadow stretching across the grass.

"Oh." She looks up at me in surprise and blinks. "Hey. Come sit, you're blocking my sun."

"'Kay." I plop down beside her. We sit in silence for a moment, and I can't really tell if it's awkward or not. Finally I speak, my voice breaking through the quiet. "You said you wanted to talk to me before I left."

"Yeah, I did." She plucks a blade of grass out of the ground.

"What did you want to talk about?" I ask her.

She purses her lips, and I guess instantly what's on her mind.

"Listen, Thalia. In a couple of hours I'm going to be leaving the place that's been my home for the past three years. I'm going to wander into an underground maze that drives people crazy with only Clarisse for company. The last thing I want to talk about right now is Luke."

"I know you don't want to talk about it. But we have to," she says, not looking at me.

"Fine," I say. "Talk."

She takes a deep breath. "There's a chance you might run into him in there. You know it's true, Dess. So I'm telling you now–if you do run into him, and you get the chance to kill him, don't."

My mouth falls open in shock. This isn't what I was expecting. "I– Don't kill– _What_?"

"I know he's on the enemy side, but it's really not _necessary_ to kill him," Thalia hurriedly continues. "You could just bring him back here, and we could figure out what he's doing in the Labyrinth–"

I watch her scrambling for excuses, for reasons, for anything that will keep him alive. Then, internally rolling my eyes, I interrupt her, "Thalia, shut up for a second, will you? You have nothing to worry about. Have you _seen_ him fight? When would I ever be in a position to kill him?"

She doesn't look convinced. She glares at me. I hesitate for one short second. "Look, even if I had the opportunity, I don't think I would. He's done horrible things, and I've grown to hate him, but… Whatever else he is, he's a human being. I don't think I could ever kill a human being," I tell her quietly.

She considers my words for a moment. Then she seems to decide that I mean it, and she relaxes. "Okay. I was just making sure, you know?"

"Yeah, I know," I reply. "Is that all you wanted to talk about, or…"

"That's all. Well, actually, I did want to wish you good luck. Don't let Clarisse drive you mad before the Labyrinth does." She smiles.

"I'll see what I can do." I regard her for a second, and then, unable to stop myself, blurt out a question that has been in the back of my mind for a long while. "You know before, when we had that fight?"

"Yeah," she says, instantly wary. "I remember."

"Well, something you said has been bothering me for a while." She just raises an eyebrow, so I keep going. "You said that Luke and you were something, and then you just suddenly stopped. So I was wondering…what were you going to say?"

"Dess, I don't think–" she starts.

"No," I tell her. "No, I want to know. I won't get mad at you." And I mean it. I feel oddly calm, but it's not forced at all.

She stares down at the cabins in the distance. "To be honest Dess, I don't really know what I was going to say," she confesses. "Luke and I… I know the way I acted made it seem like we used to be more than friends, but we actually never were. I'll admit I had a crush on him, but I don't think he ever felt the same. And for me, our friendship was always more important. We loved each other in the sense that we were family, but at the end of the day, the truth is that we both cared more about Annabeth than we did about each other."

I listen to her explanation, and I hate the sharp feeling of relief that's flowing through me.

Abruptly, I stand up. "I have to get ready for the quest. I'll see you when–if–I come back."

Thalia stands up, too, and gives me a brief hug.

"Good luck," she says again.

She sits back down beside her tree, and I turn and sprint down the hill towards the cabins.

* * *

I'm about to open the door to my cabin when someone clears their throat behind me. I whirl around and take an automatic step back when I see Cheryl standing there.

I wouldn't normally be afraid of a daughter of Aphrodite, but she's been acting very strange lately. You remember that prank Thalia and I pulled on her, and how worried I was about what she would do to me afterwards? Well she never even tried to get revenge or anything. It's unnerving.

I ran into to her after leaving the Big House last week, and she looked just about ready to murder me. Then a second later she suddenly turned and walked away. She hasn't talked to me since, and I've been worried about what she's planning.

"Uh, hey, Cheryl. Nice to see you. I have somewhere to be, so I really don't have time to chat." I laugh nervously. I wish I had my sword with me. Or any kind of weapon at all.

"Somewhere to be? As in inside your cabin, packing?" she asks knowingly.

I freeze for a second and then force myself to relax. She's just messing with me. After all, how could she possibly know?

Deciding to play dumb (which admittedly isn't that hard for me), I roll my eyes and say, "Why would I be packing? I know you want me gone, Brookes, but nothing you say is going to make me leave."

I know I'm doomed when she doesn't even flinch at hearing her last name. "I know you think my head is entirely full of air, but it's actually not. I've seen you, Clarisse, and Thalia constantly whispering to each other. At first I thought you guys were planning another prank to play on me, but than I noticed that you kept sneaking into the Big House when no one was looking."

Completely stunned by her insightfulness, I make a final, feeble attempt at deceiving her. "Cheryl, we _were_ planning a prank. We were in the Big House so often because there are objects in the attic that we need in order to pull it off."

"That's a load of bull," she says bluntly. "You wouldn't go into the attic if you were offered all the money in the world. And anyways, Chiron wouldn't let you into to the Big House just to get stuff for a prank. Not to mention Mr. D would vaporize you. So out with it. What's this quest about?"

"I can't tell you," I say, deciding that there's no point in pretending anymore. "I'm not allowed."

"Why?" Cheryl demands. "Did Chiron say you couldn't, or is it because of something in the prophecy you got?"

That last bit startles me so much that I speak without thinking. "We didn't get a prophecy. Clarisse said that because it's not a normal quest we didn't need one."

I clap a hand on my mouth the second the words are out. Cheryl immediately pounces on my slip-up. "Not a normal quest? What does that mean?"

I hesitate. Surely there's no harm in telling her, as long as I don't mention the Labyrinth… "Well, most quests only last a couple of weeks, because they usually have some sort of time limit."

"And this quest has no time limit?" Cheryl guesses.

I nod.

"But hang on a second," she protests. "That one time when Luke went to the Garden of Hesperides, he didn't have a time limit. He was gone more than a month. But he still had a prophecy. His quest wasn't even one of those save-the-world ones like Jackson's quest was."

"What makes you think this quest is one of those," I challenge her.

"Chiron wouldn't be involved so much if it was. And you wouldn't spend so much time planning," she responds instantly.

I stare at her in disbelief for a moment. "My _gods_, Cheryl, where has your brain _been_ all this time?" She scowls at me. "Relax, I was just joking–mostly.

"…Okay, you can't tell anyone I told you this, but I think Clarisse is scared of the Oracle. I'm pretty sure the last time she went to get a prophecy wasn't fun, and I don't think she wanted to go through that again. I offered to go–don't scoff like you think I'm lying, I'm telling the truth! I offered to get the prophecy instead–whether I actually would've gone through with it is an entirely different story–but Chiron says that because it's Clarisse's quest, she's the only one allowed to receive the prophecy. And she absolutely refused. So we have no prophecy."

"That's probably for the best. I think a lot of prophecies wouldn't come true if no one ever heard them," Cheryl reflects.

"Seriously," I say, shivering, "stop doing that. You're creeping me out. Do you know how strange it is to watch you open your mouth and hear a string of intelligent words come out?"

Cheryl glowers at me.

"Look, you were actually right before, I really do have to pack. So assuming I survive, I'll see you around." I wrench open the door.

"Dess–" For a second she looks like she's debating whether or not to continue. "I don't, you know."

"You don't what?" I ask her, confused.

She meets my eyes. "I don't want you gone." Before I can even respond, she tackles me with a hug and then lets go just as quickly. I'm still standing there with my mouth hanging open when she turns and heads back into her cabin.

I do the same, vaguely wondering if it's 'Hug Dess' day. Or maybe it's just a sign of the apocalypse.

And I have no idea why, but I can't seem to decide which option is worse.

* * *

A couple of hours later, when I've gathered all the necessities into a backpack (food, first aid stuff, explosive objects such as grenades, food, my pocket blowtorch, a dagger, and food), it's finally time to say goodbye to my brothers.

I'm starting to think it really is 'Hug Dess' day, because the second I zip my backpack shut Jake throws his arms around me and squeezes me so tightly I'm surprised my ribs don't crack. Beckendorf is next, and his huge arms wrapped around me make me feel like I'm a little doll that he's holding. Zeth embraces me shyly, not really used to human contact. I am _beyond_ glad that they didn't hug me as hard as Jake did, because otherwise my ribs might have actually broken.

Finally it's Gareth's turn. Instead of hugging me, though, he gestures towards the stairs leading into the basement. I glance at the rest of my brothers, but they look just as surprised as I do. I shrug my shoulders and follow Gareth down the stairs.

When we reach the bottom of the steps, we're greeted with the usual sight; a rectangular room with twenty-two doors. Ten on the really long wall we're facing and ten on the wall opposite it, and one door each on the other two walls. You see, the longer walls have doors leading to our underground rooms. The other two doors lead directly to the Hephaestus tunnels.

The really great thing about the basement is that it's pretty much soundproof. So this is where we go if we want to have private conversations, which isn't very often. This really makes me wonder what Gareth needs to say to me that he can't say in front of everybody else.

"Well?" I cross my arms. "What did you want to say that you couldn't say in front of everybody else?"

"I'm not going to be here when you get back," he says bluntly.

Startled, I ask him, "When are you–"

"As soon as summer session is over," he answers. "Beckendorf is more than ready to take over, and Xavier and Elliot have wanted to leave for a while now. We already found an apartment. So we're going to head into to the city in a few days. Elliot's going to get some sort of computer job, and Xavier–well, he's a son of Athena. I'm sure he's not going to have any trouble getting a job."

"What about you?"

"Well, the underwater Cyclops forges aren't the only places you can make equipment for demigods. Dad has a few set up across America, and the main one is in New York City, of course, because it's close to Olympus and Camp Half-Blood. So he offered me a job there, and I accepted."

Impressed, I ask, "Are you going to be making swords, or…" I trail off. I've just remembered that he's not very good at forging weapons.

"No, I'll be crafting armour and things like that." He studies me for a moment. "Dess, do you know _why_ I'm so bad at forging weapons?"

"Uh, no, I don't," I reply, half wondering if he was reading my mind or something.

"Part of it is because I'm just not talented in that area," he acknowledges. "But part of it is that I don't _want_ to make weapons. I don't like the idea of making something that will be used to kill others. And I think you're the same way."

I jerk back in surprise. "What?"

But already his words are making sense. The Hunter's bow I made was actually pretty amazing. I'd wondered about that for a while, because I didn't think a bow was any different than any other weapon. But it is. The bow itself doesn't really do much. It's the arrows that really cause damage. When I make swords, I always have a fleeting image of them being used in battle. But with the Hunter's bow, I just saw the bow. It was so easy to imagine that it was never going to be used to hurt anybody. The only reason I threw it away was to spite Apollo.

Gareth watches my face as I consider all this. "I'm right, aren't I?"

"I think so," I admit. "But how come I can't craft armour either?"

He scratches his head again, his expression thoughtful. "Well, I'm not entirely sure. Maybe you're just naturally bad at it. Or maybe you just don't like the idea of the armour being necessary."

My spirits plummet. "So I'm pretty much useless, than. Can't make weapons, can't forge armour… What kind of daughter of Hephaestus am I?"

"The kind who can forge objects that are often overlooked, but are really just as important as swords and shields." He grins slyly. "Like anklets, for instance."

My face heats up. "How did you know–"

"Dess, seriously, where _else_ would you have gotten it?" he questions, and I have no retort.

"Listen, you don't have to be ashamed of forging jewellery," Gareth says quietly. "It's important to forge things that help us fight. But it's just as important to create things that remind us what we're fighting _for_. It's important to make the world a more beautiful place in any way you can, so that at the end of the day, when you're sick and tired of the constant struggle, you can look around you and remember that it's all worth it."

He smiles at the stunned expression on my face and then hugs me. When he pulls away he nods at the stairs.

"Come on, soldier. You have a quest to go on."

* * *

When we rejoin the rest of our brothers, Chiron and Clarisse are there waiting for us. The daughter of Ares is carrying a massive duffel bag, which probably weighs about ten times as much as my backpack.

"All ready to go?" Chiron asks.

"Yeah." I grab my bag by the right strap and sling it over my shoulder, at the same time patting my pocket to reassure myself that my anklet is still there. "All ready." I turn to Clarisse. "You _sure_ you don't want to tell Isabel we're leaving?"

"I'm sure," she says, her voice certain. "Let's just go."

There's another round of goodbye hugs from my brothers. I even let Chiron give me a brief one-armed hug. Clarisse mostly just nods at people and shakes hands. When it's time to go and we can't delay it anymore, I head back into the basement, Clarisse right behind me. I lead her not to the doors leading to the tunnels, but instead to the one leading to my underground room.

"Okay," she says grudgingly as I enter the pass code into the keypad right beside the door and the entrance instantly slides open, "I still prefer the landmines around my cabin, but this is pretty cool."

We enter the room and Clarisse doesn't even bat an eye when she sees how messy it is. There are clothes strewn all over the floor. On one side of the room is a double bed pushed against the wall with a shelf mounted above it. Against the opposite wall there's a desk and a chair. The bed itself is unmade, the sheets and covers carelessly thrown all over the place as though someone has just woken up and pushed the blankets away. The shelf above it has metal and wrenches and blowtorches piled up on it. On the other side of the room, the desk is buried under junk.

Clarisse looks incredibly disinterested in all this until she catches sight of something on the desk.

"Why do you have a radio down here?" she asks, striding over to the desk before I can stop her. She picks up the thing and brushes a thick layer of dust off it. "When did you last clean this place, the Stone Age?"

"The harpies don't come down here," I protest defensively. "And I don't either anymore. I haven't been here in almost a year."

"Why not?" She glances around the room appraisingly. "This place looks all right to me. I mean, it could use some barbed wire, but other than that, it's not that bad. You even have a double bed! …Actually, now that I think about it, why _do _you have a double bed?"

I pretend I don't hear the question. "Look, stop fooling around and come over here, will you?"

Clarisse ignores me and continues fiddling with the radio. I sigh and climb onto the bed. I reach my arm up and pull a huge block of copper off the shelf. Behind it, almost completely unnoticeable, is a small, square metal panel that I easily remove, only to discover another keypad. I type in the password and the section of the wall between the bed and the desk starts to tremble. It opens slowly, revealing a long corridor.

Clarisse scowls like she's trying really hard not to seem too impressed. She sets the radio down on the desk and stalks forward towards the doorway. She glances down at her feet as she kicks aside all the abandoned clothing on the floor.

Then she suddenly stops walking.

"What now?" I groan.

"You wear _boxers_?" she asks incredulously, pointing at the offending item.

I automatically reply, "Oh, those aren't mine."

"Then whose–" Clarisse begins, and I immediately realize my mistake. In a sudden burst of understanding, her eyes dart from the boxers to the double bed. She backs away from both like they're radioactive.

"Oh, EW! I can't believe you two did– Oh, that's _disgusting_–" She breaks off, shuddering.

"Oh, shut up. It's not like I _knew_ anyone else would ever be coming down here," I snap back. "Now can we please _go_?"

"Gladly," she grumbles.

Together, we enter the Hephaestus tunnels. I press a button that makes the wall start to slide back into place. I definitely don't want anyone coming in here–not that they would be able to get into my room in the first place, but you never know.

The doorway shuts completely, and we're swallowed by darkness.

* * *

"Hustle, bustle, and so much muscle; Cells about to separate Now I find it hard to concentrate and–"

_Music blares from the radio and then abruptly cuts off. Luke, who is shirtless and sprawled across the double bed, stops lazily tracing patterns on the sheets and shoots up when the noise stops._

_"Hey!" he protests. "I was listening to that."_

_"I know that. But unfortunately for you I find it _hard to concentrate_ with music on," I respond._

_"Are you _still_ trying to finish __King Lear__?" He lets out an exaggerated sigh. "Give it up, babe, you can barely even get through __The Very Hungry Caterpillar__, let alone Shakespeare." _

_"Thanks for being so supportive, _babe_," I answer sarcastically. "And for your information, I _have_ gotten through Shakespeare before. I read __Hamlet__."_

_"Yeah, you read __Hamlet__," he agrees. "But only to spite your mother. And it's not so much that I think you _can't_ finish it, it's more that I think you'll give yourself a massive head ache while trying. And–" he smiles, his gaze sweeping slowly along my almost entirely bare legs "–you have _other_ things you could be doing right now."_

_I roll my eyes. "Perv."_

_"Hey, now, that's a very serious accusation," he says, obviously trying very hard to refrain from grinning. "If you had a problem with me checking you out, then you wouldn't be wearing only my T-shirt right now."_

_"Yeah, whatever," I reply. "But seriously, I have to finish reading this. It's supposed to be on the exam–even though _you_ told me I'd never have to read Shakespeare again." I glare at him._

_"Well you wouldn't have if you didn't insist on getting your diploma through the Canadian system. Chiron doesn't have any influence there. He can't get them to remove the Shakespeare plays from the list of required texts," he explains patiently for what must be the twentieth time._

_Yeah, we actually do continue our education here. We're constantly training in the summer, but if you're a year-rounder than you have to attend classes on math and english and stuff. Many of the satyrs have been through school several times, so they're qualified to teach us. _

_The problem with me is that I'm from Canada. What I learned in my two or three years of high school is not what Americans learn in that same amount of time. I don't know if I learned more or less. I just learned differently. _

_Luckily there was a satyr who went through the Canadian education system–specifically the Ontario one–enough times that he could teach me. It seemed like a better alternative than repeating three years of high school the American way, until I was told that I had to read __King Lear__. _

_Ugh. Well there's no getting out of it now. I just have to suck it up until I get my diploma._

_Luke sees the resolve form on my face and groans, "Oh, come on, just take a break for a few minutes! …Or hours…" _

_Oh, to heck with Shakespeare! Luke's right, I need a break. I drop my copy of __King Lear__ onto the desk and Luke cheers. He stops celebrating when I turn the radio back on. The song he was listening to is just finishing. _

"And finally you have found someone perfect, And finally you have found... Yourself."

_The song ends and the radio announcer person's voice says, "And that was 'Hard to Concentrate' by the Red Hot Chili Peppers, folks. That concludes our music hour. Stay tuned for a report on weather and traffic…"_

_"Weather and traffic," I muse aloud. "What a great way to spend my break."_

_"_What_? You're going to spend your break listening to _that_?" Luke asks in dismay._

_"Yeah," I answer, looking at him in (fake) surprise. "What else would I do?"_

_However, far from further incensing him, my words make him relax. "Oh, good. For a second there I thought you were serious."_

_"I am!" I protest._

_"No, you're not," he says, with such certainty that I feel annoyed._

_I storm over to the bed and slap his bare shoulder lightly. "The weather and traffic are very important!" I lie. "You should be paying complete attention to every word that guy is saying–"_

_In one swift movement Luke grabs my arm and pulls me on top of him. I can feel his chest rising and falling as he laughs. My hair spills onto his shoulder and he reaches up with his right hand to cup my cheek. _

_He drags my face down to his and whispers in my ear, "Well, I _would _pay attention to that report–" His lips press against my jaw. "–but you kind of make it _hard to concentrate_."_

* * *

**Author's Note: I made up all that stuff about them getting lessons from satyrs. Though it makes sense, they have to get some kind of education somehow.**

**Reviews appreciated.**


	18. We Stumble Down the Stairs of Disaster

**MAIN TITLE: The Keeper of Fate**

**WARNINGS: See first chapter for warnings.**

**NOTES: Thanks to **chaSing b0b**, **Fangisnotmyfirstname**, **Neela4232**, **FallenAngel10086**, **WinterDreamers.x**, **Hope and love**, **angel2u** and **nickiR0x** for reviewing this chapter!**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own the PJO series. Rick Riordan does.**

* * *

**Chapter 18: We Stumble Down the Stairs of Disaster **

We wander down the corridor in silence for an entire hour. I kind of want to take a break for a bit, but Clarisse would probably look at me with disgust if I even suggested it, so I keep my mouth shut.

"Why exactly did we go through your room, anyways?" Clarisse asks suddenly. "There were like twenty something other doorways in the basement, why didn't we use one of them?"

"Well, every bed on the main floor has an underground room to go with it. So twenty of those doors just lead to either my brothers' private rooms or to empty ones. The other two lead directly to the tunnels, but I'm not sure where they go. They could just lead us in circles underneath the camp for all I know. This tunnel is the one I've used the most, and I know for a fact that it leads into Manhattan," I explain, shining my flashlight along the wall.

Well, technically this flashlight belongs to Clarisse. I'm lucky she had an extra; I can't believe I forgot to bring one. I could probably build one if I had the right materials, but I don't. I hope we don't run out of batteries anytime soon, because we're going to be down here for a long, long time. We haven't actually gone that far in an hour, because we have to check every inch of the walls for Daedalus' mark. I'm really hoping that we won't find one, because that will mean Luke definitely has an entrance into camp.

Silence reigns again for another ten minutes, until Clarisse once again breaks it. "So do all your brothers have secret entrances into the tunnels in their rooms?"

"Probably. I wouldn't really know. I've never been in any of their rooms. In fact, I've never even caught a glimpse of the inside of their rooms, because they don't usually use the doors in the basement. Their beds lower into their rooms," I add, seeing the confused and yet somehow indifferent look on Clarisse's face.

"Seriously?" she asks, almost as if she wants to keep me talking so she doesn't have to think about–well, anything.

"Yeah. Only I can't do that with mine, because my underground room already has a bed, and it's so big that there's no space for another bed," I babble on, because I really don't want to think either.

"How did you even get a bed down there in the first place?" she asks, squinting at a crack in the wall.

"It was pretty difficult. Long story. Very boring," I respond vaguely.

"I have time," she says, smiling wryly.

For some reason, that makes us both laugh. Then, as if suddenly struck by a horrible thought, Clarisse pales and stops dead in her tracks.

"What's wrong?" I ask anxiously, glancing over my shoulder, expecting to see some sort of monster.

"Did Luke know about the tunnels?" she demands.

I sigh, half relieved and half annoyed. "I doubt he knew about this specific tunnel. I never told him about it. He might've poked around my room while I was sleeping, but even if he found the keypad, there's no way he would've guessed the pass code. It's completely random. It's not my favourite food or colour or anything like that. No matter how well he knew me, he never would've guessed." My voice is confident.

"But what about the two doors in the basement?" Clarisse persists. "I know you think they don't lead to Manhattan, but if they did–"

I shake my head. "The barrier exists down here. This place isn't like the Labyrinth; it's not–_alive_. Though it is almost as confusing as the Labyrinth. So even if there was an entrance to Daedalus' maze in the other tunnels, Luke wouldn't be able to find his way around. This tunnel is really the only one we have to worry about. It's a lot more straightforward than the others. From what I've heard, the others have twists and turns all over the place."

The daughter of Ares instantly relaxes. Without another word, she starts walking again, her flashlight searching the walls. I follow her lead. Neither of us speaks again for a long, long time.

* * *

_I draw patterns on Luke's left hand with my fingertips while his other hand combs through my hair. We're sitting on the rock in our clearing, relaxing after training all day. Sword lessons, Pegasus riding (I ditched that class), archery, canoeing (Luke ditched that one; he's horrible at it), climbing the clashing rocks… It's a lot to do in one day. We need some downtime. _

_"You know," Luke says, pressing his face to my hair and breathing in deeply, "I've always wondered why your hair smells so nice."_

_I roll my eyes at him. "Because I wash it, stupid."_

_"Yes, I'm aware of that," he snaps back, pulling away from me slightly. "But I wash _my_ hair on a regular basis too, and it doesn't smell as good as yours always does."_

_"That's because I use a different shampoo than you do," I say. "_Girly_ shampoo."_

_"What kind do you use, then?" he asks. _

_I tell him, and then tease, "Why all the questions, anyways? Did you want to borrow it or something?" _

_"Very funny," he sneers at me. "I was just curious."_

_I put up my hands and shrug. "You never know. But while we're on the topic of smells_—_and therefore tastes_—_why do you always taste like gingerbread houses?"_

_"Do I?" Luke asks innocently. I give him a look. "Okay," he laughs, "this is a little embarrassing to admit, but… I chew gingerbread-flavoured bubblegum."_

_I blink in surprise. "I'm sorry, did you just say gingerbread-flavoured _bubblegum_?" I ask incredulously._

_"Yeah. It's weird, I know. I saw it in this really odd store once, and stole it just for kicks. Then I actually started chewing it, and I've been hooked ever since," he confesses. "I chew it whenever I'm alone and I'm trying to concentrate on something. If I'm trying to read a book, or I'm trying to keep from falling out of the canoe during lessons, or even when I'm training in the Arena."_

_"Isn't it kind of dangerous to chew gum while you're moving around all over the place swinging a sword? Couldn't you accidentally swallow it and choke to death?" I ask, internally trying to decide if I should actually be concerned or not._

_Luke laughs again. "I've faced deadly monsters before, and you think chewing on a piece of gum is going to kill me?"_

_"Can we talk about something else?" I ask, a little agitated._

_"All right. I have another question for you," he says. He tugs on a lock of my hair, which falls down to just below my shoulders. "What made you decide to finally cut your hair?"_

_I shrug. "Too many split ends. And my hair has a lot more volume now. It's actually wavy on occasion instead of just pin-straight all the time."_

_"So you grew out your hair for years, and then you just suddenly decided it had too many split ends?" Luke asks skeptically. "Why did you even let it grow that long in the first place?"_

_I shift uncomfortably._

_"Oh, come on! I told you about the gum thing, it's only fair!"_

_"I let it grow so long because–" I stop short, because I can't find the right words. "I don't know, it's kind of hard to explain. I guess it was partly to piss off my mother. But I think it was also because… Well, because it was better to be the girl with the really long hair than the girl with ears that are a bit too big, or–" (I decide not to mention the fact that my teeth are a more yellow than most people's, because that just makes me think of my mother and all the crap she put me through) "– or the girl with eyelashes that are a bit too short, or the girl with three zits on her face–"_

_"_Three zits_?" Luke looks at me like I'm crazy. "You're complaining about _three_ z_its_? Dess, do you have _any_ idea how bad my acne was from the ages of thirteen to fifteen? I had zits all over the place." _

_"You _did_?"_

_"Yeah. I wasn't always picture perfect, you know," he jokes._

_I shove him lightly. "Ha-ha. You're hilarious. So maybe three zits aren't that bad, but you can_not _tell me that my ears aren't big." My ears aren't as huge as Dumbo's or anything, but they're still larger than normal. And they're definitely large enough to be noticeable. That's why I never wear earrings. I feel like they just draw unnecessary attention to my ears._

_"Well, you're right about that part," he admits. "They're not exactly your best feature. But seriously, Dess, it's not like they make you _ugly_ or anything. Everyone has flaws. Get over it. You're beautiful. Maybe not as beautiful as someone with perfectly sized ears, but beautiful all the same."_

_My lips curve upward. "Really?"_

_Luke rolls his eyes. "Yes, really. I can't believe you actually have to ask. Haven't you ever looked in a mirror?"_

_"Oh, shut up."_

_"I'm serious here. Didn't any of your ex-boyfriends ever tell you you were beautiful?"_

_"How do you know I have any ex-boyfriends?" I challenge him. _

_"Because as rude as you sometimes are, you're not _entirely_ anti-social." He ignores my scowl. "But now that I think about it, you've always avoided this subject."_

_"Luke, you glare at guys just for looking at me for more than five seconds. Why would I tell you about my ex-boyfriends?" I ask him, sounding exasperated._

_"Because then I'll tell you about the girls I've dated." He grins triumphantly, sure that I won't be able to resist his offer._

_He's right. "Okay, fine, I'll tell you," I groan. "When I was eleven one of the guys in my grade invited me to the Valentine's Day dance, and he was cute so I said yes. We started 'dating' after that. All we did was hold hands. He never even kissed me on the cheek. We broke up two weeks later over who got to use the red paint first in art class_—_ Will you _stop _it?" _

_"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Luke chokes out through his laughter. "I just find it funny. You both sound so immature."_

_"We were _eleven_," I protest. "What did you expect? Anyways, after that I decided not to date again 'til high school. When I was in grade nine_—_as in I was a freshman_—_I went out with this guy who was a year above me. We dated for like two months. He was my first kiss. Eventually we both got tired of each other and we broke up." _

_"Oh, I see how it is. You date guys and then you drop them when they get boring." Luke narrows his eyes at me in mock admonishment._

_"I know it sounds shallow, but that's the truth. The last relationship I had was the most serious," I say, running a finger along a crack in the rock we're sitting on. Luke's face turns a little sour at the word 'serious'._

_"I met this guy in my grade nine geography class. I didn't spend that much time with him until I realized he could see through the mist. We became really good friends after that; he's probably the only thing that kept me alive until I got to Camp. I didn't have that many monsters after me in the first place, but there were a few that decided to hang around my school and the park near my house every once in a while. My friend Kyle saw them all for what they were long before I even noticed anything unusual. He would warn me and I would run like hell. _

_"On the off chance that I couldn't run, I had a sword that my mom gave me, which apparently my dad gave her to give to me when I was old enough to understand that I was a demigod. I'm still not sure what happened to the sword. I guess I lost it somewhere. Whatever. _

_"Anyways, eventually Kyle stopped being just my friend. I went out with him for most of grade eleven_—_junior year_—_and then we got into a fight and we broke up a month or so before I ran away from home. I don't even remember what the fight was about. It was probably over something really stupid." I pause to take a deep breath, because I've been talking non-stop for what feels like five whole minutes. "'Kay, I'm done now. Your turn. Spill." _

_Luke stares at me. "Exactly how serious was your relationship with that last guy?"_

_I shrug my shoulders. "I don't know. Pretty serious, I guess. He was my best friend for most of high school, so we were pretty close."_

_"…Did you love him?"_

_This is starting to sound familiar. "Honestly, Luke, don't you know better than to ask such an _intrusive _and_ personal _question?" I try to make my voice sound as disappointed as possible. _

_"Dess, would you just answer the question?" Luke asks, clearly frustrated._

_"No, I won't, actually," I reply. "Now you know how I felt when I asked you if you loved Thalia. And it was even worse for me, because we weren't dating yet and I thought you didn't like me." _

_"You seriously thought that? I made it so obvious, how could you have possibly not realized that I liked you?"_

_"I'm slow when it comes to those kinds of things, okay?" I answer defensively. "Kyle apparently liked me for an entire _year _before I even started to notice."_

_"And now that we're back to that guy_—_ Would you _please_ just tell me if you loved him?" He sounds genuinely irritated and worried now. _

_"Okay, fine. I didn't love him."_

_Luke relaxes instantly. "Good."_

_"Now that you're not consumed with jealousy_—_" I ignore all of his indignant protests. "_—_it's your turn."_

_"…All right, so I had my first kiss when I was thirteen…"_

* * *

Five hours later, when we're almost in Manhattan, we take our third break. We left the safety of camp a long time ago, but thankfully no monsters have shown up. By this point I've gotten so used to the silence that when Clarisse finally speaks, her voice seems to make my ears ring.

"Do you really think the string is in the Labyrinth?" Clarisse asks me. "Because that's the conclusion Chiron came to after talking to Chris."

"And you don't believe that?"

Clarisse glares at the wall above my head. "I don't know what to believe."

"Yeah, I know what you mean." I give her a bleak smile that she probably doesn't see. "But honestly, I don't think Luke would be sending people into the Labyrinth unless he really believed that he would eventually find a way to navigate it."

"Chiron seemed to think–" Clarisse hesitates, her eyes dropping down to meet mine. "He seemed to think that this all has something to do with Daedalus."

I stare at her like she's grown a second head. "Um, isn't Daedalus dead?"

"Well, yeah," Clarisse says, "but Chiron thinks that maybe he was buried down here or something, and that the string was buried with him."

"Wouldn't it make more sense if it was buried with Ariadne?" I ask. "It _was_ her string after all. …Oh, wait, she was never buried, was she? Dionysus made her immortal, and then they got married. Poor girl. Married to Mr. D. How much would that suck? Though I guess she doesn't have to see him that much, since he's stuck at Camp Half-Blood and–"

"Dess, shut _up_," Clarisse groans. "If you don't have anything useful to say, then don't say anything at all."

Her words bring the anger I've been suppressing for the past week or so to the forefront of my mind. I still remember exactly what she said to Chiron.

_"What help could she possibly be?"_

"You're right, Clarisse," I say, and she looks startled by the fact that I'm agreeing. "I mean," I continue, "obviously the only _useful_ thing I can do is lead you through this tunnel. Clearly I'm not capable of doing anything else."

Clarisse's brain finally seems to register the anger in my voice. "What are you talking about?"

"You know what I'm talking about. That's what you think, isn't it? That I'm entirely useless." My voice sounds incredibly bitter. "That's why you didn't want to listen to Chiron when he said I should go on this quest with you."

The confusion disappears from her face. "Oh. _That's_ what you're mad about?"

"Of course that's what I'm mad about!" I snap at her.

"Well you shouldn't be mad about that. That's not how I meant it," she says quietly.

"Not how you– Then how _did_ you mean it?" I ask skeptically.

"Look, I know what I said was rude, but…" she trails off. "I just didn't want you to go on this quest, okay? I didn't really mean what I said."

"Why didn't you want me to go on this quest, then, if it wasn't because you thought I would mess everything up?" I challenge her.

Clarisse snaps, jumping to her feet and glaring down at me. "Use your brain, Dess!" she shouts at me. "You _saw_ Chris! He doesn't even recognize me half the time. He calls me _Mary_. He's gone completely insane. The Labyrinth drove him crazy, Dess! Why the hell would I want someone else I care about going down there?"

Her words take me by surprise. "_That's_ why you didn't want me to come?"

"Yes, okay? Look, I know I don't say this very often, but…you're one of my best friends." She sits down again. "And if you don't walk away from this quest with your sanity intact, then I'll never forgive myself," she confesses, looking at her feet.

For a second I'm entirely speechless. Then I speak, my voice very quiet, "And you think _I_ would've forgiven myself if I didn't go on this quest and you didn't come back at all?"

"Yeah, I know I'm being stupid. I just–" She squeezes her eyes shut tightly. "I'm just so sick of people I care about getting hurt. First it was Isabel, and now Chris–" Her voice breaks.

If this was anybody other than Clarisse, then I would probably try to hug them at this point. But this _is_ Clarisse, so I just reach over and pat her shoulder.

"You're really worried about Chris, huh?"

"Yeah, I am," she admits shamelessly. "There are times where he seems to know who I am, but it's happening less and less lately. And he's started having these episodes where he won't eat. They don't come very often, and they don't last very long, but Mr. D says that eventually he'll just be in that state all the time, and he'll get hungrier and hungrier, and then he'll–" She breaks off, but I already know what she was going to say.

"You really believe Mr. D?"

"He's the god of madness," Clarisse reminds me. "He knows what he's talking about."

Inspiration hits me. "You're right. He _is_ the god of madness. So he could cure Chris, couldn't he?" I grin at her, aware of the fact that I probably look ridiculously proud of myself.

Clarisse immediately bursts my bubble. "Chiron already thought of that. The day you and Thalia barged in on us, I asked Dionysus to cure Chris."

"Well that's good, then, isn't it?" I ask her. "By the time we get back, Chris will be completely cured, right?"

"Wrong."

"But you said Mr. D would–" I begin, but the daughter of Ares interrupts me before I can finish.

"I said I _asked_ him to heal Chris, not that he agreed."

The blood drains from my face. "You mean he wouldn't–"

Clarisse laughs humourlessly. "Are you honestly surprised, Dess? When I asked him, he just said that there was no point. He said that after all Chris had done–abandoning camp, joining Luke–he didn't deserve to be saved."

I gasp. "He _didn't_!"

"He did. That's why he was about to strangle me when you and Thalia came charging in. I just got so mad when he said that… I tried to attack him, and before that I think I shouted–"

"How dare you," I finish for her. "Yeah, we heard you."

"Well, now you know." Clarisse gets up, brushing dust off her jeans. "We should get going. We have to find out what Luke's doing in the Labyrinth. We have to stop him, and make sure no one else ends up like Chris."

She offers me her hand. I take it and pull myself to my feet. We grab all our stuff. I take a long drink from my water bottle and Clarisse finishes off a chocolate bar that I gave her earlier. She shoves the wrapper into her pocket. We've been told so many times not to litter that we obey the rule, even though we're not at camp anymore.

We continue down the passageway until we reach a dead-end. We shine our flashlights all around. I point mine up at the ceiling only to see a manhole cover with a series of rungs leading up to it. I squint at a plaque to the right of the rungs until I make out 'Enrace to Mahatn' which I figure is 'Entrance to Manhattan'. Damn dyslexia.

I grin triumphantly and turn to Clarisse to inform her of my valuable find. She's standing motionless, staring at something on the wall opposite the makeshift ladder.

"What is it _now_?" I gripe, because I really want to get out of these tunnels and back into the sunlight. Though it might be raining. Actually, that would be kind of nice. I sort of miss the rain. I haven't seen it since last summer.

Clarisse still hasn't responded. Impatiently, I ask again, "What is it?"

In answer, she points wordlessly to the wall she's facing. I walk to her side and peer at the place she's indicating. At first I don't see anything out of the ordinary. Just as I'm about to complain to Clarisse that she's wasting time, I catch sight of a little triangle. Then it takes me a second to comprehend why this triangle is so important. When I finally understand, I clutch Clarisse's arm tightly.

"_Please _tell me that's not–"

"A Greek Delta? The mark of Daedalus? Sorry, but it is."

For a moment we just stare at it. Then we glance at each other and speak at the same time:

"Are you sure you want to–" That's Clarisse.

"Do you really think we should–" Me. Obviously.

We smile at each other wryly. Then I release Clarisse's arm, take a deep breath, and press my finger to the mark.

There's a loud rumbling noise as the wall starts to break apart until it forms a doorway. Beyond the doorway is a set of stone steps descending into a tunnel that's practically a replica of the one we're already in. But we both know this is no ordinary tunnel.

Clarisse walks forward and I follow her. We reach the stairs and head down them. At the bottom of the stairs I hesitate with one foot still on the bottom step. Finally I take that last step.

Instantly the doorway starts to slide closed. I panic. I'm about to race up the steps again, but it's already too late. The staircase is being pulled back into the wall. The door slams shut and the stairs vanished. I search the wall desperately, but there's no Greek Delta.

I turn to face the brunette daughter of Ares, clutching my flashlight in my hand like it's a lifeline. Clarisse looks back at me grimly, and then I can't deny the awful truth.

We're trapped in the Labyrinth.

* * *

**Author's Note: Reviews are appreciated. Hope you're having a great day!**


	19. I Piss Off the Goddess of Pink

**MAIN TITLE: The Keeper of Fate**

**WARNINGS: See first chapter for warnings.**

**NOTES: Thanks to **Apollo06**, **Neela4232**, **angel2u**, **WinterDreamers.x**, **chaSing b0b**, **nickiR0x**, **Hope and love** and **Alyssa Horan** for reviewing this chapter!**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own the PJO series. Rick Riordan does.**

* * *

**Chapter 19: I Piss Off the Goddess of Pink**

The _dracaena _thrusts her javelin at me and I drop to my knees, at the same time bringing my sword up to knock her weapon away. She hisses, her forked tongue poking out through her painted lips, and attempts to stab me again. I roll out of the way, somehow not impaling myself on my own sword. I come up kneeling, my left hand shooting out to grasp the _dracaena's_ lance. I yank her forward with all my might, right into the path of the point of my sword. The light fades from her yellow eyes and she explodes into golden dust. Luckily for me, I thought ahead and closed my mouth a few seconds ago.

As I brush off my jeans, a smug grin plays across on my face. I turn to Clarisse just in time to see another monster fly past me. A second _dracaena_ hits the wall and crumbles to the ground. As Clarisse advances, the demon feebly tries to slither away on her two bronze and green snake legs, but it's too late. The demigod daughter of Ares jabs her spear through a gap in the _dracaena's_ armour. Vaguely, I wonder where the heck the _dracaena_ got armour in the first place, but I don't have time to worry about that now. After all, there _are_ two more–

"Aww, man!" I complain, staring at the two piles of monster dust on the opposite side of the room. "Did you _have_ to kill all three? Couldn't you have left me one?"

"And miss the satisfaction of watching you sulk because I killed more monsters than you did?" Clarisse smirks, wiping Lamer–sorry, I meant _Maimer_–on her cargo pants. "No way."

I grumble to myself under my breath but eventually decide to let it go. There are more important things to worry about. Like getting out of this room, for example. See, the _dracaenae_ sort of chased us into this circular room, which unfortunately happened to be a dead-end, and then, even more unfortunately, the doorway sealed itself.

The Labyrinth has a crap sense of humour. Seems to think imprisoning us with monsters that want to rip out our intestines is funny. Well, too bad for the Labyrinth, but the _dracaenae_ weren't that much of a challenge for us (and by 'us' I mostly mean 'Clarisse'). The problem now is that there's no exit.

"All right," Clarisse sighs, "what the Hades do we do now?"

"No clue. You see the mark anywhere?"

"Nope. A maze that thinks for itself and is constantly changing. What a stupid idea." Clarisse scowls.

Immediately, the ceiling starts to tremble, causing pebbles to rain down on our heads. I glance upward nervously, at the same time reprimanding the brunette girl. "Cla-_risse_! Don't insult it! You'll make it mad!"

"Oh, like you weren't thinking exactly the same thing!"

"Yeah, but at least _I_ have enough sense to not say it!"

"Please, you really think the Labyrinth can _hear _you? That's crazy! It's not a living thing–" She's interrupted by more pebbles showering her.

"Oh _really_? Well I think it's pretty clear, _Clarisse_, that the Labyrinth does not appreciate your comments."

"Look, does it really _matter_? We're still stuck in here either way. Being nice to the Labyrinth isn't going to help at all."

"We'll see about that." I turn away from her and stare up at the ceiling awkwardly. "So, uh, Mr. Labyrinth, sir, if you're not busy or whatever, I was wondering if maybe you could make a door appear? Preferably the same one we came in through?"

There's no response. Stupid Labyrinth. And I even acted all polite and everything.

"Well that was helpful," Clarisse says sarcastically.

"Yeah, yeah, no need to rub it in–"

Without warning, a section of the wall starts to melt away, a narrow doorway taking its place.

Clarisse glares at me. "Don't even–"

I interrupt her, almost singing the words: "I told you so!"

"Shut up, Dess." She scowls. "I notice the Labyrinth made the doorway appear on the side of the room _opposite _the side you wanted it to appear on."

"Huh." I blink. "You're right. Maybe the Labyrinth is really a girl and I offended it by calling it 'sir'."

Clarisse rolls her eyes. "Oh, yeah, I'm sure that's it."

"How about you drop the sarcasm and get out of here instead?" I suggest, already halfway to the door. "Preferably _before_ the Labyrinth changes its mind and decides to close our only exit."

"Dess, that's the best idea you've had all week."

* * *

Later that night, after Clarisse has gathered firewood and I've set it on fire using my pocket blowtorch (I knew that thing would come in handy!), I rummage through my backpack and pull out the dagger I brought with me. I draw little triangles in the dirt, half hoping one of them will somehow turn into Daedalus' mark and reveal a way out of this place.

I hate it here. Seven years is _way_ too long to spend in the Labyrinth.

Okay, you caught me; it hasn't really been that long. Seven years, seven days… I get them confused sometimes, okay? It's not my fault. Honestly, sometimes it feels like it really _has_ been seven years.

I glance down at my dagger, feeling very glad that I can't see my reflection in it. I probably look like shit. My hair is tangled and knotted, a complete and total mess. My arms (I'm wearing my filthy, torn, orange Camp Half-Blood T-shirt) are covered in bruises, scrapes, and cuts. My face probably looks just as bad as Clarisse's does; and believe me, Clarisse's face looks _bad_. It's coated in sweat and grime. We came across a clean, underground stream a couple of days ago, and we took turns bathing in it, but it didn't really do much.

I miss the showers at camp. Sometimes I even miss them more than the food. …Okay, I take that back. I will _always_ value food over hygiene. I brought so much food with me in my backpack, but we've already eaten half of it. So now we have to _ration_ it. Pfft. What a silly concept. _Rationing_ food. Who does that?

No, I'm just kidding, I know a lot of people do that. Actually, I'm not really finding cutting back on food to be that difficult. I'm sort of used to it, thanks to my witch of a mother. And yes, I was thinking of a word other than witch, but I felt like I should start censoring my internal thoughts just in case you're particularly impressionable. Honestly, the things I do for you…

You know what's worse than the lack of showers and the lack of food _combined_? The lack of good entertainment. I was never really fond of the whole 'find-and-destroy-monsters-before-they-find-and-destroy-you' thing, but, like I said, I've been down here for an entire _week_, and let me tell you, this place is dead boring. There's absolutely _nothing_ to do but fight monsters.

I should've brought my tools with me, but I figured they'd be too heavy. I still have my blowtorch, of course, but setting little bits of paper that I happen to find everywhere on fire and throwing them at Clarisse gets dull after a while. Plus, last time I did that she got mad and punched me in the face, and she's got a great right hook. It really hurt.

So now I'm reduced to fighting monsters for fun. My only other source of mild entertainment is reminiscing with Clarisse about all the pranks we pulled on Cheryl. Actually, now that I think about it, I miss Cheryl. I didn't think I would, but I do. I miss a lot of people. My brothers, Tyson, Annabeth, Chiron, Isabel, Thalia, the Stolls, and hell (the not swearing in my head thing just isn't working out for me, sorry), I even miss _Grover_.

That's how I know I've hit rock bottom. I mean, I know I was worried about him when he was trapped in that Cyclops's cave, but there's a difference between being worried about someone whose life is danger and missing someone.

Gods, I hate this place. Sometimes, when I'm fighting off evil giant beetles or wandering down corridors only to wind up right back where I started, I wonder how long it will be before my mind starts going just like Chris' did. How long it will be before I start going insane.

Sometimes I wonder if I already have.

* * *

"That's nauseating."

"That's _sad_."

Clarisse and I stare down at the dying rat in disgust, though we have different reasons for being disgusted. I just find it disturbing to watch an extremely thin rat weakly scratching at a package of macaroni and cheese (the Kraft Dinner kind), trying to open it. Clarisse just finds it pathetic.

"You think we should give it some food?" I ask Clarisse.

I don't really want to, but… If this was a puppy or a kitten or a bunny or anything even remotely cute, I wouldn't hesitate to give it food. And that's shallow. All that time I spent fighting with my mother, trying to convince her that beauty isn't everything… I might as well practice what I preach. I already have tons of reasons to call myself a hypocrite. I don't need any more.

"Uh, no." Clarisse makes a face. "That thing is pathetic." See? I told you.

I ignore her and dig into my bag. I find a small strawberry and toss it to the rat. It approaches wearily, sniffing at the fruit. I try to will myself to feel pity for it, but it's just so _ugly_. Tentatively, the rat nudges the strawberry with its paw as if worried the red fruit might explode. Finally it seems to decide the thing is safe, and it starts nibbling at the strawberry. The next second it's greedily tearing off piece after piece of the fruit, and then I don't even have to work at feeling sorry for it. It was clearly starving.

I turn back to Clarisse and find that her face has softened just a little. She's nowhere near heartless, after all. She knows what compassion is.

"Let's go," I say. As we continue down the passageway, Clarisse looks back at the rat.

"I hope it finds its way out of here someday," she says quietly.

"I hope so, too."

We turn a corner, and this corridor is so radically different than the previous one that I stumble for a second. The other hallway was like the inside of a sewer, the ground mucky and the walls made out of red bricks. There was garbage everywhere. The ceiling was so low that Clarisse had to bend her neck just so she didn't accidentally hit her head.

But here… The ceiling is far above us; the floor and walls are smooth and the colour of gold. It doesn't really look like a corridor at all. It looks like an enormous, empty room.

"Holy crap." Clarisse sucks in a huge breath, shocked.

_"Holy crap, holy crap, holy crap..."_

The echoes startle me, but not nearly as much as the voice that comes from behind me: "If you're going to interrupt my date, couldn't you at least say something more meaningful than just 'Holy crap'?"

Clarisse and I spin around simultaneously. Standing there in a striking crimson dress is the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, with flowing sandy blond hair and eyes that are a bright shade of forget-me-not blue. I'm so distracted by the woman and how familiar she looks that it's not until the man speaks that I even notice him.

"Seriously, we were just getting to the best part. You get outta here, Clarisse, and take the daughter of that deformed, grotesque blacksmith with you."

Anger snaps me out of whatever trance the beautiful woman put me in. I glare at the huge man dressed in biker clothing and combat boots, somehow not registering the fact that this guy is obviously dangerous and could probably snap me in half like a twig if he wanted to.

"Who the hell are you to talk about my dad that way?" I snarl back, even though I pretty much agree with him.

"Dess!" Clarisse looks incredibly alarmed. "Shut up, this is–"

"I don't care who he is!" I snap at her. "He's even ruder than I am! He's a jerk!"

The biker guy gives me a cruel smile. "What was your first clue?"

"Your repulsive haircut, actually," I sneer at him. "And those awful shades."

"Dess, don't–"

"Not the best insult ever," the man says, completely ignoring the fact that Clarisse was talking, "but I suppose you're not that bad for Ugly's kid. You definitely don't _look_ anything like him."

The woman beside him clears her throat.

"She's got nothin' on you of course, babe. Don't even know why you're worried."

"Oh, I'm not." She giggles, and her laughter sounds like bells ringing. "I was just wondering when you were going to introduce me."

"Clarisse knows who we are. Why don't you introduce us to the punk?"

I glance at Clarisse. Why would she know who they are? Why does the man know her? And why does she look so damn nervous?

"Dess," Clarisse begins, her voice wary, "this is my father, Ares, and his girlfriend Aphrodite."

Oh. That's why.

"Oh. Uh, I'm really, um, sorry, Lord Ares, Lady Aphrodite," I stammer, even though I'm really not sorry at all. I still remember Apollo's visit three years ago; apologizing is always the safest option when it comes to gods and goddesses.

Ares just shrugs his shoulders.

"That's all right." The goddess flashes a stunning smile at me. "It's only to be expected. Your father was never the politest person, after all. Rather uncivilized. It's hardly your fault that you inherited that from him."

Through gritted teeth, I answer, "Of course, my lady. Thank you for your generosity in pardoning me." But inside I'm thinking, _Well maybe you'd find my father a bit more polite, you witch, if you didn't sleep with everything that moves. _

I guess my tone doesn't sound that grateful, or maybe the expression on my face reflects my internal thoughts, because Aphrodite's smile cools a little. It looks a lot less beautiful when it's not genuine.

"Oh, you're welcome, sweetie," she replies, still with that same, benevolent yet cold smile.

"Right," Clarisse says, "well, we don't want to disrupt your date any further, so we'll just go–" She tugs on my arm.

"Oh, no, that won't do," Aphrodite says. "I've been meaning to pay you a visit Dess; I want to talk to you about something. Your timing is very inconvenient, of course, but that can't be helped."

"Oh, I'm sure this conversation could wait. I mean, you're busy deities, you have more important things to do than talk to insignificant demigods, right?" I laugh apprehensively, praying that she'll agree and let me leave.

"Well you're right about that, but I would rather not inconvenience myself further by putting off our talk to later. You're here now, I'm here now, we'll talk now." Her tone leaves no room for argument.

I cast an anxious glance at Clarisse, who is peeking at her father out of the corner of her eye and looking even more frightened than I feel. But she still gives me a reassuring pat on the back.

"Of– Of course, my lady."

I follow her to the far end of the corridor, or room, or whatever it is. She presses her hand against the wall lightly and a door with elaborate carvings of roses appears. She gestures for me to turn the equally fancy handle, and I obey because, _hello_, she has the power to _incinerate_ me if she so chooses.

I pull the door open, and as we step into the room my immediate reaction is to gag.

_So. Much. Pink._

The walls, the carpet, the window curtains (why is there even a window in here in the first place? The Labyrinth is an _underground _maze!), the frame of the giant mirror, the frames of the pictures hanging on the wall, the flowers in the pictures, the table, the vase on the table, the flowers in the vase, the couch, the bed…even the _chandelier_ is pink. My brain is practically overloading from all the pink. This is the most ridiculous room I've ever seen in my life.

As she shuts the door behind us, Aphrodite says, "Isn't this room just _wonderful_?"

"Uh, yeah," I say, lying through my teeth, "it's amazing. Very, um, pretty."

"I know, isn't it?" She smiles even wider, but this time her smile is warm and real and absolutely dazzling. "That other room actually belonged to Echo, you know, that nymph who was in love with Narcissus? I always liked Narcissus, that man was _gorgeous_.

"But anyways, Echo died years and years ago–or at least every part of her faded except for her voice–, and Ares and I decided that she wouldn't mind us borrowing her room for our little date. But silly me!" She smiles indulgently at her reflection in the mirror. "We're not here to discuss the origins of this room. Why don't you take a seat on the couch, dear? This could be a while. No use standing and tiring your legs."

Recognizing that I have no choice, I accept her invitation. As I plop down onto the couch, I marvel at how soft the seat cushion is. I guess that's to make up for how hideous it is.

"So," she beams at me, sitting down next to me, "I'm sure you know what we're here to talk about–"

"Uh, no, I don't, actually," I interrupt her.

She frowns a little. "Why, I though it would be obvious! We're here to talk about Luke, of course!"

All my muscles tense. The second she says Luke's name, it occurs to me why her appearance seemed so familiar to me. She looked like a female version of Luke. But even as I think this, I realize that her appearance is _changing_–her hair shifting from brown to black to red, shortening and lengthening, curling and straightening; her eyes transforming from green to black to brown, widening and narrowing, her iris' growing and shrinking; and her skin, turning from peach to Mediterranean to milky-white, dotted with freckles one second and the next unblemished, rosy cheeks and then no rosy cheeks.

But what bothers me the most is that no matter how many times her appearance changes, her hair colour always returns to blond, her eye colour to blue, her skin tone to tan.

"Lady Aphrodite," I say, trying to infuse respect into every syllable, "why does your appearance keep changing?"

"You can't figure it out for yourself, a smart girl like you?" She smiles again.

I nearly snort at that. I've been accused of a lot of things. Being smart isn't one of them.

"Uh, no, I can't."

"Sweetheart, I'm the goddess of _beauty_. I become whatever you think is most beautiful," she explains, as if this were obvious (which it probably was, but you know how I get sometimes; I'm slow). With a patronizing smile, she adds, "Many girls see pictures of supermodels in magazines, and when they see me I take on the appearance of the model they find most attractive. Only much, _much_ prettier. Or they see boys they like. You love Luke and find him attractive, and so my appearance keeps returning to a close match of his."

"I hate to burst your bubble, but you're wrong about that last part," I inform her. "I don't love Luke. I used to, but I don't anymore."

"Ah. So now you've gotten straight to the heart of the problem." She smiles sympathetically and I lean in a little closer, expecting her to say something about how it's okay to fall out of love with creepy, murderous traitors. Instead she says, "You're in denial!"

I recoil slightly. "Excuse me, _what_ did you just say?"

She sighs with exaggerated impatience. "Keep up, dear. You're in love with Luke, but you've deluded yourself into thinking you're over him."

"Uh, I think _you're_ the deluded one, _Lady_ Aphrodite." Her (totally and completely unfounded) accusation bothers me so much that I throw caution to the winds and drop my politeness.

"Well of course you do, sweetie, you're in denial."

"I'm not!"

"You certainly sound overly defensive for someone who's not in denial."

"I do _not_! You're misinterpreting my tone!"

"Mm-hmm. Whatever helps you sleep at night, honey."

I push myself to my feet. "I don't have to take this from you. I'm out of here."

As I stride over the door, she says in a casual voice, "Of course, I understand why you're so upset. If you truly don't want to discuss this, then who am I to stop you?" She lets out a tragic sigh. "I just thought you might like to know _why_ you're still in love with him."

I freeze with my hand on the doorknob. "What?"

"Oh, well I was _going_ to tell you, but you so obviously don't want to talk about this–"

"Tell me."

"But darling, I thought you didn't love him anymore? What use could you possibly have for my mistaken little theory?"

"Well, I _don't_ love him anymore. But, you know, if I did–which I don't– But hypothetically–" I trip over my words, my hand still frozen on the doorknob. "Why would I still love him? If I did. Even though I don't."

"Come sit down again, and I'll tell you," the goddess of love promises, patting the space beside her on the couch.

I hesitate for a moment, torn, and then I think, _Oh, what the hell_. What harm could it possibly do?

I walk over to her and sink slowly onto the cushion.

"Okay. So spill. If I did still love him–and I don't–, then why would that be? Because you shot me with some sort of love arrow, like you did to all those people in the myths? Or because–" I don't get to finish my question, because at that moment Aphrodite bursts out laughing.

"Oh, you don't really _believe_ all those stories, do you? I don't _really_ force people to fall in love!"

I raise an eyebrow at her skeptically. "Really? You, the goddess of love, have never made people fall in love?"

"First of all, Dess, I don't use arrows." She shakes her head at my stupidity. "That's my son, Eros. Or Cupid, as he is more commonly known. And secondly, Dess–I don't _make_ people fall in love. I can make people become obsessed with others, I can make them become _infatuated _with others–but never, ever can I make someone fall in _love_."

She looks me straight in the eye and says quietly, "Love is not something you can force on people. All those people in the myths, who I supposedly got into trouble–they were either infatuated or they honestly, truly loved each other. They're people who would have fallen in love of their own accord, if only they were given the opportunity. And that's what I do. I give people the _opportunity_. So you can throw away that ridiculous idea you have in your head–that I've been somehow manipulating your thoughts and forcing you to stay in love with Luke. Because the only person doing that to you is _you_."

"But you said you had a theory about why I still love him!" She smiles triumphantly and I hastily add, "Even though I don't! I don't love him!"

"Really, darling, this denial thing is only hurting you in the end. The sooner you can accept that you're not over him, the sooner you'll _get_ over him."

"For the hundredth time, I DON'T LOVE HIM! I hate him!"

"And that, my sweet, is the problem."

"What?"

"You're still in love with him _because_ you hate him," she explains, as if she believes her words actually make sense. "There's a very fine line between love and hate. And in most situations, the only way you can truly hate someone is if you love them. Those feelings are connected. You can't let go of one unless you let go of both. So by stubbornly holding onto your hatred of him, you're forcing yourself to stay in love with him."

For a moment I sit there in stunned silence. Then I choke out, "That's _crazy_."

"Is it?" She raises an eyebrow. "Haven't you ever heard anyone say that indifference, not hate, is the opposite of love? You care too much. If you want to stop loving him, than you have to stop caring. You have to stop hating him."

Very quietly, I ask, "What if I don't know how?"

She smiles at me kindly, and suddenly she somehow looks even _more_ beautiful than she did before. "Then I guess you'll have to learn. And I'm sure you'll find that it won't be as difficult as you think it is."

"Really? You think so?"

"Of course."

"You're being awfully nice to someone who's covered in filth."

"Yes, well, I'm trying to avoid those horrid stereotypes of evil stepmothers who make their stepdaughters lives absolutely miserable. We're not _all _that bad."

My mouth falls open in shock.

"What, don't tell me you never realized that the fact that I'm married to your father means I'm your stepmother?"

"Well, um–"

"And that means my children, the ones you find so shallow and materialistic, are your stepsiblings."

"No they're not! They can't be!" I protest, because if I start believing that then I will never again be able to watch Beckendorf gawking at Silena without throwing up my lunch.

Aphrodite misunderstands my reasoning. "Of all the _nerve_!" She glares at me. "I go to _all_ this trouble to help you with your love life, and you're _still_ mean to my children!"

"No, no, I was just–"

She rises from her seat and says dramatically, "Don't even try to make excuses! You know, Dess, when I like a person I make their love life very, _very _difficult. I fill it with torment and uncertainty."

Somehow, I manage to squeak out, "And, um, what do you do when you _don't_ like someone?"

She gives me an icy look and an eerie smile. They don't really match. "Well I guess you'll find out, won't you?"

She sweeps out of the room without another word. I stare at the doorway she vanished through for a second, and then slump back against the sofa cushions.

"Fuck my life."

* * *

**Author's Note: That's the only time you'll ever see the F-word in this story, I promise. Hopefully Aphrodite didn't seem OOC, and I'm sorry Ares wasn't there for very long. I just figured he wouldn't really give a damn about Dess other than to insult her a bit, and watch her get mad and would be more focused on talking to (threatening) Clarisse.**

**Reviews are appreciated.**


	20. I Realize the Gods Need Serious Therapy

**MAIN TITLE: The Keeper of Fate**

**WARNINGS: See first chapter for warnings.**

**NOTES: Thanks to **angel2u**, **MeganLeBlanc**, **chaSing b0b**, **Fangisnotmyfirstname** and **HGGirl97 **for reviewing this chapter!**

**Brief Summary of Keeper of Fate: Dess, a daughter of Hephaestus, is asked by Apollo to defy the Great Prophecy in order to save lives. She agrees. She meets Luke, grows close to him, and then Percy Jackson shows up. Percy exposes him as the lightning thief and Luke leaves Camp after asking Dess to join Kronos' army, which she refuses to do. Thalia is freed from her tree and Dess and Clarisse wander into the Labyrinth in order to gather information about how to navigate it, and to find out what Luke plans are.**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own the PJO series. Rick Riordan does. Also, the flashback was **Apollo06**'s idea, and the Aphrodite-giving-Dess-a-makeover thing was **Neela4232**'s idea. **

* * *

**Chapter 20: I Realize the Gods Need Serious (Group) Therapy**

"I hate her," I seethe. "I absolutely _hate _her. She's going to _pay_ for this one day."

We're walking down yet another corridor – still in the Labyrinth, unfortunately. And even more unfortunately, it's back to looking like a sewer. Same old red brick walls, same old muddy ground, and same old low ceiling. Damn.

"You know, Dess," says Clarisse, her voice uncharacteristically cheerful, "that attitude of yours is what got you into trouble in the first place."

"Shut up, Clarisse. Just shut up."

But of course she doesn't. Instead, she continues speaking as if I had never said anything: "I mean really, Dess, I thought even _you_ would know better than to be rude to a goddess – even if she's just a wimpy love goddess."

"I couldn't help myself," I protest, my fingers clenching around the strap of my knapsack. "I was just so _angry_ for nearly the entire conversation."

Clarisse gives me an odd look. "Well of course you were. People always get angry around my dad."

"Wait, so you're saying it's _his_ fault?"

"Oh, don't worry, I'm sure you would've found a way to insult her on your own," Clarisse assures me, though for some strange reason this doesn't make me feel any better. "But yeah, that anger was my dad's influence. I don't know, he just has this power that really ticks people off. It makes sense. He's the god of war, after all. It's his job to make people want to pick a fight with others."

"What a lovely father you have."

"Don't I know it," Clarisse says wryly, and I'm surprised by how bitter her accompanying smile is.

I watch her carefully for a moment. "What exactly did you say to each other while I was talking with the love nutcase, anyways? You seemed real eager to get out of there afterwards."

Clarisse glares at me, but her eye twitches slightly like she's uncomfortable. "None of you beeswax."

"What an original comeback."

She lets out a long, drawn out breath and then admits, "We didn't really talk much. I tried not to look at him, and all he really said was that I'd better not make a fool out of myself on this quest or else he'd–" she stops short, just as I stop right in my tracks.

"Wait, did he _threaten_ you?" I demand.

"Look, just forget it, okay?"

"No, I _won't_ forget it! What kind of asshole threatens his own daughter? He better hope he doesn't run into me again, or I swear to the gods I will–"

Lips twitching, Clarisse informs me, "No offense, Dess, but I don't think my dad would be intimidated by a girl with Hello Kitty tattooed onto her cheek."

At the mention of the revolting, fake (it better damn well not be real) tattoo that appeared on my face not two minutes after we left Echo's old room, all of my anger at Aphrodite returns in full force.

"That _bitch_! I still can't believe that she did that! I mean, the makeover was one thing–the makeup isn't so bad, and at least we're _clean_ now–but the tattoo is just going too far!"

Clarisse, who has already endured fifteen full minutes of me raging and storming, just rolls her eyes and gestures that we should start walking again, at the same time saying, "Get over it, Dess. I'm sure it'll fade soon enough."

"Oh, that's easy for you to say. _You_ don't have a cute little white kitten on your face! It's so not fair!" I rant. "How come you don't have to suffer?"

Clarisse shrugs her shoulders, her features smug, and says, "Well, it could be that I wasn't rude to her. And I'm sure it doesn't hurt that my father is her lover, whereas as _your_ father is the bane of her existence."

"Shut up, Clarisse. Just shut up."

"What an original comeback," she taunts, purposely throwing my own words back at me.

"Shut up, or I _will_ hurt you."

"Real threatening, coming from Miss Hello-Kitty face."

"I hate you. I really, _really_ hate you."

With one last smirk, Clarisse speeds up. I lag behind, discretely rubbing my cheek with the back of my hand, as if that will somehow remove the tattoo.

* * *

Two days later I'm still trying to get rid of the damn thing. I've done everything short of ripping the skin off my face, and nothing has worked. If it doesn't go away, I'm going to wear a paper bag over my head for the rest of my life. I'm not joking, either. I don't care if other people think it's weird, or if it gets in the way when I'm trying to eat or fight monsters or bathe. No matter how inconvenient that would be, it would still be preferable to showing off this awful tattoo every time I go out in public.

"For the love of Ares, Dess, just stop sulking, will you? I am _so_ sick of it. All you ever do is complain," Clarisse bursts out.

What a liar she is. I don't sulk. That much. And I don't complain. That often. However, I don't really blame her for being annoyed. We've been stuck together for the past nine days. It's inevitable that we irritate each other and get into fights sometimes.

"Yeah, well–" I begin, glaring absentmindedly at the wall, but then I break off and suddenly freeze.

"What _now?_" Clarisse groans. "I swear, Dess, if it's another skull… You _know_ there are skeletons in here, that's just how it is–"

"Shut up, Clarisse."

She looks like she's about to argue, but something in my face stops her.

"Dess, what–"

Silently, I gesture to the engraving of a little triangle, wedged between two bricks.

Daedalus' mark.

A way out of this hellhole.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, we're sitting on a bench, eating hotdogs, looking out at the boats in the harbour. It turns out we resurfaced near a waterfront. Which conveniently has a hotdog stand close by. And the owner happens to be a wimp. We didn't even have to pay for our food. Clarisse just threatened the guy. (Normally that would bother me, but hey, free food!)

Gods, having the sun beating down on my face has never felt this good before. I'm never going to take sunlight for granted ever again. Now I know how Grover felt when he got out of that Cyclops' cave.

"These–hotdogs," Clarisse begins, pausing to chew between each word, "are–so–damn–good."

I stuff the rest of my hotdog (which is about a quarter of my original hotdog) into my mouth whole. With my mouth full, I respond, "Eynoe, wighte?" which is supposed to be, "I know, right?"

Clarisse laughs, not at all grossed out, and for the next few minutes we talk about trivial things – "Are those supposed to be _shorts_? That girl looks like she's wearing a belt around her butt!" "Look at this! They've changed the colour of the NESTEA cans, what is the world coming too?" – because it feels good to pretend that we're normal teenagers for a while.

So we pretend that we're normal and carefree, and we avoid talking about what we're eventually going to have to talk about – the fact that sooner or later, we're going to have to find our way back into the Labyrinth. I'm half hoping that the mark that gave us a way out of the underground maze has vanished, but the longer we stay in the mortal world, the more likely it is that Luke will find us. We don't have a choice. We have to go back in.

* * *

_Luke winds the screw into the machine he's making, using my favourite purple screwdriver. We're in the Armory today and I'm giving him forging lessons. He's not _bad_ at it, of course, but he's not _good_ either. He could certainly improve a lot. My brothers are so paranoid that they run off as soon as anyone who isn't an expert at forging steps through the door, so Luke and I are alone._

_I study Luke for a moment – his eyes narrow in concentration, his hands careful as he begins to wind the last screw into the machine, a bead of sweat running down the side of his face – and the question bursts out before I can stop it._

_"Why do you hate your dad so much?"_

_The screwdriver slips through Luke's fingers and hits the metal table with a loud _clang!

_Okay, so maybe this isn't the best time to ask. He could've been holding something dangerous. I should've waited until after dinner, when we go to what I like to think of as "Our Spot" – a clearing in the woods next to the creek, with a large rock that's always in the shade – but I'm too impatient to wait._

_Luke is silent for a long time, and I almost wonder if he heard me at all. _

_Finally, he draws in a sharp breath and says, "I don't know. Why is the sky blue? Because it just is."_

_Somehow ignoring the harsh tone of his voice, I blurt out, "Actually, in the mortal world they have this whole scientific explanation for why the sky is blue. It has something to do with molecules and different strands of light and all this other crap and–" I stop short as I register the aggravated look on his face. Okay, _definitely_ not the time. I blame the ADHD._

_My voice small, I say, "Sorry. Forget I said anything. Hey, it's almost dinner, we should just pack up and–"_

_"No, Dess, _I'm_ sorry." He exhales loudly and runs a hand through his unruly hair. "I just– I just get so _angry_ whenever I think about my dad. I'm not mad at you. You know that, right?"_

_He's looking at me so earnestly that I have to give him a tiny smile and a, "Yeah, I know."_

_"Seriously, though," I continue, "let's just pack up. We're pretty much done here."_

_I reach for the screwdriver he dropped, but Luke grabs my hand and stops me. My heart is suddenly thumping a little too fast, and I feel like I've just stepped out of a space shuttle and onto the moon. No gravity. Just the sensation of my hand burning in Luke's._

I don't like him, I don't like him, I don't like him,_ I chant in my mind. _Oh, Styx, I sound like I'm in denial. Except that I'm not. But I sound like I am. But I'm really, really not. Really. He's just a friend. A male friend. An extremely gorgeous, kind, funny male friend…

_"Dess?" Luke's looking at me with a mixture of amusement and mild concern. "Are you okay? I've been trying to get your attention for the past minute. Did you forget your ADHD pills this morning?"_

_He's still holding my hand._

_Purposely making my voice light, I respond, "Yeah, I think I did. It's not _my _fault, though. I think they might've been stolen along with my orange hair band. Any idea where they went, Luke?"_

_"Me?" Luke asks innocently. "Of course not. _I_ would certainly _never_ steal from you."_

_I roll my eyes and repeat, "Of _course_ not."_

_Luke smiles down at me and squeezes my hand. I smile back, but a sober expression suddenly steals over Luke's face._

_He sighs, and then says, very quietly, "My mom's crazy."_

_Thinking I misheard him, I ask, "What?"_

_He shuts his eyes tightly. "My mom's crazy," he repeats, his voice loud enough that there's no mistaking his words. _

_"I–" For a moment I don't know what to say to him. Then, in a sudden fit of tactlessness and insensitivity, I question, "What do you mean she's crazy? Does she have schizophrenia or bipolar disorder or something like that?"_

_Luke lets out a hollow laugh. "No. Nothing like that. Although she's been diagnosed with both those things." _

_"Then what–"_

_He takes a deep breath, and then explains, "When I was really little – when I was a baby – my mom had an…accident. Sort of. She hasn't really told me all the details, but she did tell me that there was this job that she wanted – a special job."_

_I frown. What the heck does that mean? A special job… "You mean a job _here_? At Camp Half-Blood?"_

_Luke nods. "I know it's strange, considering she's mortal, and mortals aren't even allowed at camp normally."_

_"But she could see through the mist, right?"_

_I lift myself onto the table easily, my legs dangling over the edge. Without seeming to think about it, Luke repositions himself so that he's standing directly in front of me. He's still holding my hand, and I realize that I don't want him to let go._

_"Yeah. It's almost funny, in a sick, twisted sort of way. Before all the things she saw were real, even though she thought monsters were fake. And now that she knows the monsters are real, the things she sees are fake." _

_He lets out a bitter laugh, and my throat constricts. The pain in his face…_

_"I don't understand," I whisper, my whole body feeling numb._

_He runs his hand through his hair again. "Dess, whatever that job was, it drove her mad. Something went wrong. She has these–these _fits_ now. Her eyes glow green. She blurts out all this shit about my fate. I–I didn't understand any of it. I still don't. And–and it scares me," he confesses._

_He's not looking at me. His face is turned away. And his shoulders are shaking. _

_I hesitate for a second, and then tug on his hand and pull him into my arms. It's a little awkward, considering I'm sitting down and he's standing, but I can't bring myself to care. Luke releases my hand, but then he leans against me, his arms encircling my waist almost instinctively. His cheek is pressed against my hair._

_I hold him for a few moments, and then he pulls back._

_"Thanks," he says, smiling slightly._

_"Anytime." And I mean it._

_He studies my face for a moment. "So that's why I hate my dad. Because he knows – I'm sure he does – he _knows_ what my mom means when she freaks out about my fate. He knows about the fits. He knows how she–how she bakes me cookies everyday, how she makes sandwiches and Kool-Aid because she thinks I'll be home for lunch…" Luke's voice breaks. "He didn't take care of her, and he didn't take care of me, either. He doesn't–he doesn't love me." _

_I touch his cheek and trace his scar with my thumb. "I'm sure he does." _And even if he doesn't,_ I think to myself, _I do. In a completely platonic way, of course.

_Luke smiles at me sadly. "Yeah, that's what Thalia used to say."_

_Automatically, I start to withdraw my hand from his face, but he stops me, his hand keeping mine pressed against his cheek._

_"I've never told anyone else about this, though. Even Thalia… It took me forever to tell her. And she had to practically pry the words from my mouth. I've never–I've never been able to talk like this with anyone else," he admits, and his cheek seems to grow warm underneath my palm. "I've never been this open before. It's never this simple, the way it is with you."_

Oh, yeah,_ says a sarcastic voice in my head, _your feelings for him are _totally _platonic. _That's_ why his words make you feel like you're floating on air.

_I ignore this, and instead say softly, "Yeah, I know what you mean."_

_He grins at me, and then an odd look comes over his face. It's so intense that I have to drop my eyes. My cheeks are burning. This room is suddenly way too hot. Luke moves closer to me, his hand still holding mine against his cheek. He opens his mouth to say something – but apparently Chiron thinks this is a good time to blow the conch shell to signal that it's dinner._

_Luke lets our hands drop, but he keeps his hold on mine. He jerks me off the table so suddenly that I stumble into him. He steadies me, laughing while I glare at him._

_"Now, Dess," he says, grinning wildly again, "you don't have time to kill me. You don't want to miss dinner, right?"_

_"I could eat you and then leave your remains in the forest. No one would ever know."_

_"Whoa there, Dess," he exclaims, backing up. You'd think he would let go of my hand at this point, but he doesn't. "No need to go cannibal on me. I would taste awful. It would be like eating burnt rubber."_

_Like he knows what burnt rubber tastes like._

_"Yeah, whatever, Luke." I roll my eyes. Then, without thinking, I raise my head up and kiss his cheek. "Thanks for telling me all that stuff. I'll be around if you ever want to talk again. And…you'll be around if _I_ ever want to talk, right?"_

_He squeezes my hand and smiles down at me gently._

_"Of course."_

* * *

As I walk, my foot hits a stone and sends it skittering across the dock. I run over to it and snatch it off the ground just before it tumbles into the water. I clench the rock in my fist, wondering why that memory is coming back to me now, after all this time.

But I can't deny the fact that I've been doubting the gods a lot lately. I mean, Hermes just _abandoned_ his son. And even though I was hurt when Luke said it, the truth is that my father did the same thing to me. Both our moms were unfit to take care of us, but did our dads do anything about it? No. Of course not.

I've only ever actually met five of the gods before (Artemis, Dionysus, Apollo, and now Aphrodite and Ares) but they were all so… I don't know, hypocritical and self-important, I guess.

I spent nearly two weeks with the moon goddess and her hunters, and they were just so _sexist_. Every time Artemis said anything about the opposite gender, it was insulting. It's ridiculous. I don't think any of her hunters realized that if they were spontaneously turned into boys – even if they retained their personality and acted the exact same way as they did when they were female – the oh-so lovely Lady Artemis wouldn't give a damn about them anymore. Like just being male somehow automatically makes people worthless.

Dionysus – well, do I really need to explain? He treats all half-bloods like dirt. He couldn't care less if we all dropped dead. And think about the way he refused to heal Chris Rodriguez. How cruel do you have to be to let someone fall into madness and eventually die from it when you know perfectly well that you could save that person without even lifting a finger?

Ares threatened his own daughter just because he wants to protect his rep. Aphrodite doesn't even care about all the awful things Luke has done. She just wants a good love story (or a tragedy). We're like little toys in a sandbox to her.

As for Apollo – well, Apollo is the only one out of the five of them that I can stomach. Yes, he left me a very difficult task, but he at least he was honest about it. He told me straight up that I probably wouldn't be able to handle it. And all he's really trying to do is stop people from dying. He's doing what Hermes isn't brave enough to do; he's interfering with fate in order to save the people he cares about.

I sigh, tossing the stone in my hand into the water. Isn't it funny, how Aphrodite will interfere with her stepdaughter's love life, and yet the gods won't interfere when their children are dying or when they're on dangerous quests? If Ares was a good parent, he would've gotten Clarisse out of the Labyrinth as fast as he could. But no. He just wanted to make sure she wouldn't embarrass him.

"Whatever it is you're sulking about, get over it," Clarisse advises, coming up behind me, a newspaper in her hand and a grim expression on her face. "We've got bigger problems."

Before I can even ask her what the Hades she's talking about, she shoves the newspaper right in my face. I squint at the headline on the front page.

"Um, should I care that there's a guy going around mooning whoever walks by?"

"What– No! The date, look at the date!" She jabs a finger at the top right hand corner.

I roll my eyes, but obey. Immediately, my blood freezes in my veins. Panic courses through me. We entered the Labyrinth in the last week of August, and it feels like it's been about eight days since then. But according to this newspaper, it's nearly October. How the hell does eight days turn into more than a month?

I glance up at Clarisse and say, my voice desperate and pleading, "This isn't today's paper. This is a joke, right?"

"Sorry, but it's for real." Clarisse scowls and crumbles the newspaper up into a ball. She prepares to throw it into the water, but something – a tentacle? – is suddenly wrapped around her wrist.

And before either of us can blink, it's pulling her headfirst into the water.

* * *

**Author's Note: All that stuff Dess said about the gods**—**I don't necessarily agree with her. So if you're a big fan of Artemis or Dionysus or Hermes, don't kill me. I actually love all those characters, but Dess doesn't. She doesn't really know them and she doesn't have the right to judge them. Realizing that will be part of her character growth.**

**Reviews are appreciated.**


	21. A Cartoon TV Show Saves My Life

**MAIN TITLE: The Keeper of Fate**

**WARNINGS: See first chapter for warnings. This chapter's flashback contains mentions of bulimia and child abuse.**

**NOTES: Thanks to **Guest**, **nickiR0x**, **chaSing b0b**, **Fangisnotmyfirstname**, **MeganLeBlanc**, **Neela4232**, **Kiriva**, **angel2u** and **FlamePumpkin32** for reviewing this chapter!**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own PJO. Rick Riordan does. Also, I don't know anything about squids or grenades. I got that all on the internet. There's one specific line - ****_"The tentacles are used for grasping the prey and pulling it toward the mouth, quite unlike the arms."_**** that I got directly from Yahoo! Answers.**

* * *

**Chapter 21: A Cartoon TV Show Saves My Life**

My automatic response to watching my friend being dragged into the water by a menacing tentacle is to scream. And then run. Very, very fast.

Fortunately (or maybe _un_fortunately), before I get the chance to follow through with the second step, Clarisse pulls her spear out of Zeus knows where (although I'm not sure why Zeus would know) and slices the tentacle in half. Then she pries off the part that's still wrapped around her wrist while I, having somewhat regained my common sense, run over to the edge of the pier and reach for Clarisse's hand to pull her out of the water. She's a little heavy, but I manage to heave her onto the dock.

"Styx, Clarisse, are you okay?"

"I'll be fine," Clarisse says through gritted teeth, "once I pulverize the owner of that slimy tentacle."

"Or we could just, you know, get the hell out of here?" I ask hopefully.

Clarisse stares at me.

"Yeah, I had a feeling you wouldn't like that idea."

I sigh mournfully, already pulling my anklet out of my pocket. I undo the clasp and the piece of jewellery elongates into a celestial bronze sword with an amethyst engraved into the hilt. I think it's called a pommel or something like that. I'm not sure. I'm not that into swords. The only reason I made my anklet into one is because it's more convenient than carrying around a thirty inch blade all the time. Though now I can't wear the anklet, because then I'd have to reach down every time I'm attacked, which would probably make me an easy target.

I grip my sword firmly in my hand while Clarisse raises her spear and yells at the water, "Show yourself, you coward!"

I figure now isn't a good time to tell her that sea creatures probably don't speak English. Or maybe they do, because the next second an obviously pissed off giant squid about three stories tall rises out of the water. Even as I watch, ten massive tentacles surface around it, one of them cut a little short at the end, but just as deadly looking as the other nine.

Clarisse suddenly looks a whole lot less excited. My response is something like, "Eep!"

"So, um, I don't suppose you've changed your mind about my 'let's get the hell out of here' plan?" I plead.

Clarisse's face hardens, and all traces of fear vanish from her eyes. "Not a chance," she says firmly. "This thing is going _down_, and its eight arms are going with it."

"Arms? I thought those were tentacles."

Clarisse smiles creepily. "No, Dess, the longer two are tentacles. You see, the tentacles are used for grasping the prey and pulling it towards the mouth. Quite unlike the arms."

"Quite," I squeak out, just as the aforementioned tentacles shoot out at us.

Clarisse tackles me to the ground and the giant squid's tentacles envelop thin air. Clarisse and I lurch to our feet and sprint down the dock, away from the monster. Half of me is amazed that Clarisse is running from a fight. The other half of me is thanking the gods in all the languages I know – which is basically just English.

Unfortunately, the sight of two retreating demigods makes the giant squid mad. It snatches up the dock with one of its tentacles and throws it at us. I grab Clarisse's arm and lunge to the side. Planks of wood whiz past the place where we were just standing and collide with the hotdog stand where we "bought" our lunch. Thank the gods that the wimpy mortal who was running it took a "break" after Clarisse threatened to beat him to a pulp.

Actually, now that I think about it, the entire harbour is pretty much devoid of mortals. Which is a good thing. I have a hard enough time keeping myself alive. I certainly couldn't protect a mortal at the same time.

Clarisse jerks on my arm, pulling me behind an empty warehouse to avoid the giant squid's projectiles.

"We've got to get out of here," Clarisse says.

"Oh, so _now_ you want to leave? You were so reluctant the two times _I_ suggested it. You were all, 'Oh _look_, a deadly giant squid! Let's do something incredibly stupid! How about we provoke it and get it mad us? Then we'll have no choice but to fight it!' a minute ago!" I finish my pointless rant and glare at her.

"Look, stop being petty for a second, will you? That's not an ordinary giant squid."

"Well no _shit_," I snarl back, almost shouting over the racket of the giant squid's attempts to decapitate us with flying fragments of the dock. "It's _three stories _tall."

"Dess! Shut up and listen. You know those Pirates of the Caribbean movies?" When I nod, she continues, "Well in the second movie, they get attacked by this sea monster at the end, right?"

"Yeah, they get attacked by the Kraken. But what does that have to do with–" I stop short as a terrifying thought occurs to me. "You think _that's_ the Kraken?"

"Yeah, I do," she says, a grim look on her face.

"Actually, I think in the Greek myths they called it the _Ketos_," I tell her, once again overwhelmed by my need to spout out useless information. I try not to think about the fact that I got said useless information from Luke.

There's a slight pause during which Clarisse sighs in exasperation.

"Do we really have to run from it?" I ask her, at the same time questioning my own sanity.

"Are you _suicidal_?" the daughter of Ares roars. "That thing can't be killed!"

"Davy Jones killed it!"

"Davy Jones isn't _real_!" Clarisse screams at me, looking as though she'd very much like to strangle me. "And you're the one who wanted to run away in the first place! Why the Hades would you want to stay and fight it now?"

"Because if we just leave it here, some unlucky mortal might find it and be killed!" I retort.

"This place is practically abandoned!" she points out, her voice sounding frustrated. "And do you really think that monster would hang around near the shore? I'm sure it'll go terrorize some clownfish once we leave!"

"And what if it doesn't, Clarisse?" I snap at her. "Sure, maybe it'll leave this waterfront, but what if it surfaces somewhere else and kills someone? Do you really want to be responsible for someone's death?"

"We wouldn't be responsible!"

"Yes, we would!" I shout at her angrily. "How can you say that? How can you just be okay with stepping back and letting someone die?"

"Since when do you like to play the hero?" She scowls at me. "Gods, you know what? Fine. We'll fight it. I'm sure it'll be a comfort to know that you've saved a clownfish from being eaten at our expense."

She grips her spear tighter in her hand, but her words make me freeze.

_Playing the hero…_

Is that what I'm doing? Am I risking our lives just for a taste of what it's like to be brave?

_Playing the hero…_

But I'm not a hero. I've never been one.

"Come on," Clarisse says, her voice rough. She lifts her weapon and I mirror the action. I can worry about my motives later. Thanks to my prodding, Clarisse has made her choice now, and I know that nothing in the world will make her back down.

* * *

"Dess, this is the stupidest idea you've ever had!" Clarisse yells at me, ducking under one of the sea monster's tentacles and then slashing at it with her spear. She makes a small cut that doesn't seem to bother _Ketos_ at all.

"I know, I know, I'm sorry! But I can't remember how Perseus killed it!"

"UGH! If we survive this, I'm going to kill _you_!" she screams.

_Ketos_ swats at me with its left tentacle. _Come on Dess, think! I know you have a brain in there somewhere!_ I try to encourage myself, though somehow I feel like I'm going about it the wrong way.

_Okay, come on, Greek mythology. _Ketos_. Luke told you about it, _I remind myself. I try desperately to recall the details._ Perseus rescued Andromeda from it, he killed it… _But I can't remember how!

_Okay, new strategy. _How did Davy Jones kill it? I swipe at the monster's tentacle. _Damn it, they never showed that on screen, did they?_ But that can't be the only movie the Kraken's appeared in…I know I've seen the Kraken die, I just can't remember where!

_What movie, what movie was it? Wait, it wasn't a movie; it was a TV show… Class of the Titans! That was it!_ I'm so relieved that I remember that I almost laugh. _Okay, now how did they kill it? _

"Explosives!" I finally blurt out. "We can use explosives to kill it!"

Granted, it won't be the same as it was in that episode of Class of the Titans, 'cause they had this massive missile made by my father that they dropped into the water, and when it exploded it opened up the sea floor which created a whirlpool that sucked in the Kraken, but it's the only option we've got.

At the word 'explosives' Clarisse's entire face lights up, the way my face would if someone announced that there was an all-you-can-eat buffet. Knowing that I have her complete attention, I tell Clarisse, "We'll launch some hand grenades into its mouth. If that doesn't work, I'll set up the catapult."

Clarisse looks so excited by this plan that I'm almost afraid to give her the hand grenade. She removes the clip holding down the spoon almost before I have time to blink. I throw a pouch of Greek fire at _Ketos_, causing it to open its beak (yes, it has a beak) and emit what I assume is a cry too high-pitched for human ears. Immediately, Clarisse removes the pin and pitches the grenade into the monster's mouth, just as the spoon is released.

There's a loud boom from inside the giant squid. _Ketos _flails his eight arms and two tentacles wildly, making huge splashes in the water. I don't think he likes grenades. They probably give him indigestion. I nearly get my head torn off by the monster's thrashing limbs, but thankfully I manage to hit the ground in time.

We repeat the process four more times, and I notice that the monster seems to be slowing down. It's also constantly writhing like every movement is painful.

"Again, again!" Clarisse shouts with delight, like a little girl given her favourite flavour of ice cream.

I stare at her for a second and then shake my head, searching my backpack for another hand grenade. _Oh, shit._

"Clarisse, we used them all!"

Far from looking disappointed, Clarisse practically crows, "Then its time to bring out the catapult!"

_Oh dear gods,_ I groan to myself, but I have no choice but to obey.

I remove the wood and the all the other materials from Clarisse's duffel (it was too heavy for me to carry, okay?) and then set up the catapult as quickly as possible. It's not that big, really– it only comes up to my elbow. Anything bigger and even Clarisse wouldn't have been able to carry it.

I'm so focused on extracting the cannon ball from Clarisse's bag that I don't notice _Ketos_' tentacle until it's wrapped around my waist. The cannon ball slips through my fingers and lands on the board walk with a loud thud. I scream as the tentacle lifts me into the air.

"_Dess!_" Oh, wow, Clarisse almost sounds concerned. "Oh my gods, Dess, could you be _any_ less careful?" Or not.

"Shut up and help me!" I howl at her as the tentacle's grip tightens.

"Ugh. Fine." She sighs, sounding completely exasperated. Oh, _she's_ exasperated? I'm the one being squeezed to death!

I don't know what I'm expecting her to do – maybe throw her spear at the tentacle, making it drop me. Instead, she lunges for the cannon ball that's about to roll off the boardwalk.

_Oh my gods, oh my gods, oh my gods. _I'm _so_ going to die.

"Clarisse, don't you dare fire that catapult!" I screech down at her.

"Sorry!" she calls back, not looking the least bit apologetic. "It's the only way!"

I shut my eyes. I feel like my stomach is being squashed – probably because it is. I know she's fired the cannon ball when I see spots of white light behind my eyelids and feel heat on my skin. The tentacle wrapped around my waist crumbles to dust, and then I'm free falling through the air. I land hard on the boardwalk on my side. The sea monster was only holding me about four metres off the ground, but I still feel a considerable amount of pain. I'm going to have so many bruises.

I wrench my eyes open to see Clarisse standing over me, a smug grin on her face and a square of ambrosia in her outstretched hand. The offer of godly food is welcome. The smirk not so much.

I snatch the ambrosia from her and shove it in my mouth, chewing furiously, and the pain fades. I glance around the boardwalk. Two of the docks are torn apart. The boat tied to one of them looks like it's been turned into a sideways hour glass. The hotdog stand is trashed; there's ketchup and mustard everywhere, making it look like a piece of demented abstract art.

"So," Clarisse sighs, her previous excitement wearing off, "back into the Labyrinth we go."

"Yesh," I agree, my mouth of ambrosia. "Bacon tudor Labbirinse."

* * *

_I'm sitting on the cold bathroom floor with my back against the wall, hugging my knees to my chest, fighting the urge to throw up._

Don't throw up, don't throw up, don't throw up, _I chant desperately._

Don't throw up, don't throw up, don't throw–oh. Nevermind.

_I try to keep my hair out of my face as I lean over the toilet and – well, you know._

_"Dess?"_

_I freeze for a second, and then I'm once again overwhelmed with nausea. As I lean over the toilet bowl again, Luke crouches down beside me and holds my hair back. The second I feel confident enough to speak without spewing out the remains of my dinner, I tell Luke to F-off. He just laughs._

_I throw up one more time, and then finally the nausea fades. I push Luke away, stagger to my feet, and flush the toilet. Luke straightens up and hovers behind me as I stumble to the sink to rinse out my mouth and brush my teeth. Thoroughly._

_Luke watches me in silence, and I think to myself that I'd rather it was anyone other than him. One of my brothers. Annabeth. The Stolls. Heck, even Sherman would be better. …Or maybe not._

_My mouth finally clean, I turn to glare at him. "What are you doing here?"_

_Entirely unfazed by the anger in my tone of voice and in the expression on my face, Luke responds, "I was worried about you when you ran off halfway through dinner. I asked your brothers where you went, and they said you mentioned something about returning to your cabin. They wanted to come, but I told them you probably wouldn't want them to."_

_"What made you think I'd want _you_ to come?" I counter harshly._

_"Oh, I didn't think you'd want me to come. In fact, I was sure you wouldn't want me to," he says, staring at me intently. "But I was worried about you. I wanted to help."_

_I look away. "Well I'm fine, okay? I don't need your help."_

_I'm peeking at him out of the corner of my eye, so I see the hurt flash across his face._

_My anger falters. "I'm sorry, I just… I don't know. But the last thing a girl wants when she's vomiting is for her boyfriend to see her."_

_Luke rolls his eyes, the hurt disappearing from his face. "You know I don't care. I lived in the streets for five years, Dess. I've seen some pretty gross things. I can handle a bit of barf."_

_I shrug my shoulders. Luke studies me for a long moment. "Are you going to tell me _why_ you ran off?"_

_"None of your business."_

_"Sure it is," he replies easily. "You're my girlfriend, I care about you, and something's obviously bothering you."_

_I hold his gaze for a moment and then sigh, dropping my eyes. He's not going to back down. _

_I glance at the girl in the mirror, at her distorted figure, and then I shut my eyes tightly. _Fat,_ a part of me whispers persuasively. _But it's okay, you can control it. Don't you want that? To be able to control something for once in your life?

_I clench my fists as the nausea once again rises up inside me. I can fight it. I can. I'm _not_ fat, I know I'm not. There's nothing wrong with me. And even if I was fat, there's nothing wrong with that. It doesn't matter how much I weigh. My mother's the one who cares about stuff like that. Not me. Not ever._

_But that's not true. There was a time where I _did_ care about stuff like. How could I not, with the way my mother constantly preached the importance of being thin? How could I not, when my mother's ideal of beauty and her belief that beauty is necessary for happiness have been ingrained in me ever since I was little?_

_"Dess," Luke whispers, and then I can feel his hands resting lightly on my shoulders. "Dess, it's okay. Whatever it is, I can help you. Just talk to me about it. Remember what I told you? I'll always be around if you need to talk."_

_Slowly, the queasiness dies away. I open my hazel eyes and meet Luke's concerned blue ones. I back out of his grip until I hit the wall behind me. I slide to the floor and hug my knees to my chest for the second time today. Luke steps forward and kneels down in front of me._

_"I– I used to be bulimic," I confess._

_"Bulimic?" Luke asks, recoiling slightly in surprise. "Dess, I know eat a lot, but I seriously doubt you were bulimic. Bulimia is–" _

_"I know what it is, thanks," I practically snarl at him, clenching my fists again. "And I'm sure it was bulimia. I used to stick my finger in my mouth to make myself vomit."_

_"Why would you–" he begins._

_"Because my mother told me to," I cut him off, and I can't stop the tear that rolls down my cheek._

_Luke is frozen for a second. "Your _mother_ told you to?"_

_"Yes. My mother is a model. She's not famous or anything, but she's really, really pretty. She was…is…obsessed with beauty, with being beautiful, and for a long time she tried to make me obsessed, too. And for a long time…she succeeded."_

_"…When did she first– I mean, when did she start–"_

_I turn my face away and draw in a shaky breath, my nails digging into my palms. "When I was seven years old. That was the first time. She wasn't– She wasn't always like that. It's just…I'm pretty sure my mom never loved my dad. I think it was a one night stand; she got drunk at this party… But she was happy she had me, even though my father told her that I was a demigod. She was okay with that._

_"And then she met this guy…" I glance up at Luke, pulling my knees even closer to my chest._

_"And he turned out to be an asshole?" Luke guesses._

_"No, no. It was great, he didn't even care that she had a daughter. He was really nice to me. He treated me like I was his own child. He used to– He used to make me these banana splits all the time, whenever I got hurt from falling off my bike, or if I came home crying because some mean boy at school pulled my hair…" I trail off when I see Luke's lips twitch upwards, like he's trying to imagine that. _

_Just for an instant, I smile back. But then the smile slips off my face as I continue my story. "But he found out. About me being a half-blood, I mean. This monster came while they were both at work and I was at school, and it trashed our apartment. There were claw marks in the furniture, the curtains were torn… My mom had to tell him. And he couldn't handle it. He walked out on us."_

_"Dess…"_

_"I know you're probably wondering how that led to my mom forcing me to become bulimic. I know it doesn't make sense. But after that she just sort of…snapped. I'm a daughter of Hephaestus, Luke. I know I look a lot different than my brothers, but it wasn't always like that. My mom could see that my muscles were more built than other children's. And for her, they marked me for what I was. She couldn't stand it. At first she just tried to stop me from doing a lot of physical activity, but…a god's genes are powerful. Pretty as she was, my mother's genetics could only do so much for me. So eventually I guess she just decided that the only thing she could do to keep me from turning into a bodybuilder was to – starve me, I guess. Or almost starve me."_

_"How long–" Luke clears his throat. "How long did that continue?"_

_"Until I realized that it wasn't something all girls did. I mean, the way my mom explained it to me…I thought it was normal. The truth is that my mother didn't really ever actually _force_ me. She didn't have to. It took some persuasion the first few times, but after that… I was happy to do it. I honestly thought it was a good thing. _

_"And then one day I was in the girl's change room getting for gym class, and I heard a couple of my classmates whispering to each other about me. They thought I was anorexic. I didn't even know what that word meant, so I went to the library after school and I looked it up on one of the computers. And then there was a link there to bulimia, and I clicked on it… It took me a while to read it because of the dyslexia, and it took me even longer to understand what I was reading and to accept it. I couldn't believe my mother would do that to me."_

_"And that's when you stopped?"_

_"Well, that's when I started _trying_ to stop. It's almost like smoking, in a way. You can't just quit out of the blue. It takes a lot of time and effort. Bulimia is almost all psychological. So is anorexia. No matter how much I told myself that there was nothing wrong with me, I still heard my mother's voice in my head, telling me that I had to change the way I looked."_

_"But you stopped eventually, right?" Luke asks anxiously._

_"Of course. I don't know if I'd be alive today if I hadn't. But it wasn't easy, Luke, and sometimes…sometimes I think maybe my mother was right. That I'm fat, ugly, that I need to change myself. And even though I know that there's nothing wrong with being overweight as long as it doesn't affect your health, sometimes I can't stop myself. Sometimes I just feel the need to control at least one aspect of my life in some way. And the scene you walked in on a few minutes ago is usually the result. It doesn't happen very often, but…" I shrug my shoulders helplessly._

_He stares at me for a long moment, and I can't help but think that he's angry or disgusted with me. I look down at my knees, relaxing my grip on them. Luke tilts my chin up so I have no choice but to meet his eyes. _

_"I don't know what you see when you look in the mirror," he tells me, his voice filled with a sort of feverish intensity, "but it's not the same thing I see."_

_He takes my face in his hands and kisses me, and despite the tears that I didn't even realize I was shedding, I smile._

* * *

Stupid banana split flavoured ambrosia. Like I want to think about this memory _now_. You know, after that Luke did a lot to assure me that what my mother did to me was wrong (even though I already knew that), but sometimes I think that what Luke did is just as bad. He even partly blamed my father for the way my mother treated me, but who's to blame for the way Luke himself treated me? Whose fault does he think it is that I got my heart broken by him? Probably the gods'. I swear on the river Styx that there isn't a single crime committed anywhere on this earth that Luke doesn't blame on the gods.

I sigh, causing Clarisse to shoot me an odd look that I ignore. We turn the corner, expecting to see the metal walls and floor that we've become accustomed to seeing in the past two hours. But what we get instead is a long, narrow room with stone walls and lit torches mounted on said walls. There's a massive wardrobe and a desk on opposite sides of the room, but other than that it's empty.

Clarisse and I exchange startled glances, and then we head straight over to the desk to examine the mess of papers on it. I lean down to study the top one more carefully. It's hard to see in the flickering light of the torches.

"It's a…map?" I say, surprised.

"Yeah, I think you're right," Clarisse says. "And it's not just any map. I think it's supposed to be a map of the Labyrinth."

There's a long pause as we both stare down at the map. As far as we can tell, it's nowhere near finished – it probably wouldn't even help us at all. But it's so tempting…

Suddenly Clarisse yelps and turns pale. She points a shaking finger at the part of the map she's looking at.

In the bottom left corner, there's an image of a scythe.

And the most famous scythe in Greek mythology is Kronos'.

* * *

**Author's Note: So you've read an awful action/fighting scene and Dess' sob story about her mother. Sorry if any of the info about bulimia is wrong. I didn't do very much research for that part. **

**Anyways, reviews are appreciated.**

**Edit: So I changed a few things. The main thing is that before Dess said she was anorexic. However, she was actually bulimic, so I changed that. Thanks to angel2u for pointing that out. **


	22. Luke Gets Hit On By DonkeyLeg Girl

**MAIN TITLE: The Keeper of Fate**

**WARNINGS: See first chapter for warnings.**

**NOTES: Thanks to **Fangisnotmyfirstname**, **FlamePumpkin32**, **Apollo06**, **Lilac Vision**, **angel2u**, **Princess Andromeda 3** and **chaSing b0b **for reviewing this chapter!**

**In response to **Apollo06**'s review: Yes, Julie will show up eventually, though she'll be a minor character.**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own the PJO series. Rick Riordan does.**

* * *

**Chapter 22: Luke Gets Hit On By Donkey-Leg Girl**

"Oh gods… Clarisse, come on, let's get out of here," I hiss, my voice panicked.

"No."

"No," I repeat. "_No?_ Are you _crazy_? This must be some sort of lair for Kronos' army, for them to regroup and plan their next move and stuff. And you're telling me we should _stay_?"

Clarisse locks her jaw. "Yes, I am. I think you're right for once, Dess. This place is like…their Labyrinth base or something. So doesn't it make sense that the best place to look for info on what they're up to is here?"

Gods, I hate it when she's right. Even when she's acknowledging that _I'm_ right.

"All right, we'll take a quick look at these papers," I say, as Clarisse rolls her eyes with an 'I-wasn't-asking-for-your-_permission_' look on her face, which I ignore. "But," I continue, "we're out of here the second it seems like someone's coming."

"Deal," Clarisse says, immediately turning back to the desk to go through the papers. I join her, scanning paper after paper, all the while inwardly cursing my dyslexia. It takes me like five minutes just to briefly look through one measly paper.

Anyways, most of these papers seem to be failed attempts at making a map of the Labyrinth. It's like they've got bits and pieces, but they just can't put them together. I chew my lip, wondering if I should bring them back to camp with me. Maybe Annabeth can figure all this out. The problem is that eventually someone's probably going to realize that there are papers missing, and then they might guess that Chiron's got people exploring this place, too.

And who am I kidding? No one could figure out the Labyrinth. Not even Annabeth. Maps aren't going to help us. The only thing that can help is Ariadne's string, and if we can't find it, then we'll just have to settle for making sure the enemy doesn't find it.

I gather all the maps I've found into a pile and hand them to Clarisse, who takes both my pile and her own and shoves them into a corner so they won't get in the way. Then we go back to searching, and this time we hit the jackpot. Well, sort of. It's like those contests where you win second place and you get some sort of coupon for Baskin Robbins, which is nice because you get free ice cream for like a year, but at the same time you really wanted the MacBook Pro or the latest iPhone or whatever the first place prize is.

Of course, we don't really find a coupon for Baskin Robbins. (Though I would kill for a scoop of Neopolitan Dynamite or Choco Latte Crunch right about now.) Instead we find status reports on demigods who are obviously part of Kronos' army. As we go through them, we notice that several demigods have "Exploring Labyrinth, whereabouts unknown" as their status.

I squint at Peter Walters' report. In the progress segment, it says "Entered Labyrinth in Sector D1, San Francisco, California. Surfaced four days later in Sector F3, Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. Claims to have only spent a few hours underground. Current knowledge of Labyrinth unable to account for SNik3's sudden appearance on the other side of the country." In the status segment, it says "Currently enrolled in Labyrinth Rehabilitation program. Condition stable. Mostly. Expected to be released ASAP. Will return for duty upon release."

My brain is now in a continuous loop of "WTF does this mean?" Okay. _Okay, Dess, just take it one step at a time, _I think to myself. Okay, so they've divided the country into sectors. That's obvious. And the Labyrinth Rehabilitation program must be for demigods who've made it out of the Labyrinth and needmental help or whatever.

I'm also getting the feeling that Kronos' army doesn't know too much more about the Labyrinth than we do._ "Current knowledge of Labyrinth unable to account for SNi3's sudden appearance on the other side of the country…"_

"Hey Clarisse," I ask suddenly, "do you know what state that Kraken-infested waterfront was in?"

"Hmmm? Oh, that was in Louisiana. I saw it on the side of one of the warehouses." She doesn't even look up from her report.

Oh gods. We walked from New York to Louisiana in less than two weeks – and we've stopped to eat and sleep a lot, so we've been walking for even less time than that. How is that even _possible_? From New York to Louisiana must be like– okay, I have no idea how many miles that would be, but it must be a LOT.

I take a deep breath and decide to forget the metaphorical bombshell that Clarisse has just dropped on me. I can worry about it later. For now I return to Peter's report. I read through it again, trying to pick up anything I might've missed the first time around. I frown as my mind registers that "SNik3" isn't a word. "SNik3" is probably some sort of code for Peter, considering the context. But still, how the Hades does "SNik3" add up to _Peter_?

I read through some of the other reports, and I realize that all of the demigods have that code thing. Then I notice that every single code starts with either 'S' or 'D'. "SAph2", "DApo3", "DDio1"…

Wait…

Wait…

Wait…

Okay. I think I've got it. 'S' for son, 'D' for daughter. And then it would be the first three letters of that god or goddess' name, right? So "SNik3" is son of – I run through my internal list of Greek deities – Nike? Probably. That leaves the number three. Maybe there are three sons of Nike in Kronos' army?

So "SAph2" would be the second son of Aphrodite, and "DApo3" would be the third daughter of Apollo, and "DDio1" would be the first daughter of… of…

Oh gods. Oh _gods_. 'Dio'… Wouldn't that be _Dionysus_?

I can't remember there _ever_ being a daughter of Dionysus at camp. In fact, there's a rumour that there haven't been any daughters of Dionysus in the last three hundred _years_. My eyes shoot up to the top of the paper, to the name that reads "Beaujolais Gillette". Half of me wonders who the hell would name their daughter '_Beaujolais_'. The other half of me wonders where I've heard the last name 'Gillette' before.

"Hey, uh, Clarisse? Do you know anyone with the last name 'Gillette'?"

Clarisse tears her eyes away from the report she's reading and frowns at me. "Yes, I do. And so do you. Don't you remember Julie Gillette? From the Hermes cabin? I stuck her head in the toilet on her very first day," Clarisse says, grinning proudly before she continues, "because she laughed at me when I fell off the climbing wall. And then she never laughed at me again."

I roll my eyes at her, but already I'm picturing that French girl, Julie, always with her gaze turned skyward, waiting for a symbol to appear above her head and free her from the chaos and loneliness of cabin eleven, the cabin she knew she didn't belong to. And the whole time, her godly parent was right there.

You know, supposedly the reason the gods don't claim their kids is because they 'forget' about them. Now, I get why maybe Apollo or Aphrodite might forget; they have so _many_ kids. But Dionysus? He just has Pollux and Castor. How could he _not_ remember his only daughter, who ate dinner at the same pavilion as him everyday for two years? (And seriously, how could anyone forget they have a daughter named _Beaujolais_?) There's no way he forgot. He left her in cabin eleven on purpose.

Disgust and anger flow through me. In an attempt to distract myself, I snatch another report off the desk off the desk and skip right to the progress segment. As I read the words written there, the temperature in the room seems to drop rapidly. I read the words again and again and again, hoping I might've misunderstood, but I already know that I haven't. I look for the demigod's name, but suddenly Clarisse jerks on my arm.

"_What_, Clarisse?"

"I hear voices! Someone's coming!" She sounds so panicked that I don't even bother to question whether she's sure her hearing is working properly.

"–rather you kept your hands to yourself," says a voice from somewhere beyond the wall opposite the doorway we came in through. I didn't notice before, but there's a Greek delta on it. There must be a passageway into the mortal world there. The sound of footsteps accompanies the voice, and they sound like they're getting closer. What bothers me most, though, is that I recognize the voice.

"Clarisse, that's Luke's voice!" I hiss at her.

"Are you sure?" she asks.

"Am I– What kind of question is that? Of course I'm sure!" I snap back.

Just then, Luke's companion speaks up and proves me right. "You know you like it. Really, Luke, there's no need to pretend.…"

Clarisse swears under her breath, at the same time working frantically to put everything back to the way it was. She practically rips the report from my hand and shoves into the mess of papers. _Damn it._ I planned to take that one with me. No time to worry about that now, though.

"I'm not pretending, Kelli," Luke says. "I know what you're offering, and I'm not interested. But enough about that. I want to hear the information you've gathered on the string before I start reading those status reports."

Clarisse locks eyes with me. This is probably the only chance we're going to get to learn what they're planning. We could hide in the wardrobe and eavesdrop, but if they find us… Luke's a really good fighter. Even if we could somehow fight him off, there's no guarantee that he and this _Kelli_ girl aren't accompanied by guards or whoever.

All in all, I'm thinking that running for all we're worth is a pretty good idea, but Clarisse makes the decision for me. She grabs my arm and the next second she's yanking me into the wardrobe after her. She pulls on the door, leaving it ever so slightly ajar because, as Lucy Pevensie once said, shutting yourself into a wardrobe is a really stupid thing to do. Or at least, I think that's what she said. I don't remember too much about that book. I think I read until Edmund met the White Witch and then I got bored. (And frustrated, because it took me _forever_ just to get that far. Damn dyslexia.)

Before I can even get angry at Clarisse for putting us in danger, there's the sound of a door sliding open and two people stepping into the room we were just in.

"As you wish, _my lord_," Kelli says, her voice sweet like honey. I instantly decide that I hate her. "The research team gave a report yesterday, and from what they've said it seems the most likely place to find Ariadne's string would be Daedalus' workshop."

Clarisse and I exchange a startled glance. _Daedalus' workshop?_ Does that place even _exist_ anymore? But it makes sense. Ariadne has no use for the string anymore, and Daedalus is the one who built the Labyrinth. Of course he would have a guaranteed way to navigate it, and where else would he put it but in his workshop?

"His workshop? And does the research team know where that is?" Luke asks.

"They're fairly certain that his workshop is somewhere in the Labyrinth, or at least directly connected to it."

"But they don't know how to get there." Luke's voice is calm and smooth, yet Clarisse shivers beside me. I feel sorry for the people on that research team. I wouldn't want to be them.

Even Kelli sounds intimidated. "Not yet, no," she admits. "But they're working on it."

"I see," Luke says coolly. "Is that all you have to tell me, demon?"

"Well, there is one other thing..." Kelli hesitates.

"Tell me," Luke orders, his voice low and dangerous.

"They suspect– They think that it's possible that–that Daedalus is still alive."

For a long moment, everything is completely still. There's no movement, no noise, except for Kelli's words reverberating again and again in my head.

"_Still alive?_ That's impossible," Luke scoffs, breaking the drawn-out silence. "He'd be thousands of years old."

"I know it sounds crazy, but the fact that the Labyrinth is still expanding…it makes them uneasy. They think that maybe Daedalus is still out there somewhere, adding to his creation."

"Very well. It makes no difference, in the end. We'll keep on exploring the Labyrinth, and if we happen to run into Daedalus then we'll…_persuade_ him to tell us everything he knows about the string." Luke's tone makes it clear that he thinks it's more likely that they'll run into leprechauns and dinosaurs than into Daedalus. And what's this '_we_' stuff? I bet this is the first time he's ever stepped into the Labyrinth before. He probably makes the other demigods do all the dirty work for him. After all, they're _expendable_.

While I stand there seething in anger and bitterness, Kelli seems to regain her former confidence. "You always know just how to handle these things. But you know, Luke, you seem a little – stressed. And _I _know how to handle stress." Her voice drops to a seductive whisper. "Come on, Luke. Just have a little fun… It's just one night…" she practically purrs.

I imagine a tall, scantily clad young woman with an hourglass figure lean in towards Luke and rest a hand lightly on his arm, and my blood boils. I have no idea who she is, I've never seen her before in my life, but there's a very vivid image in my mind of her oh-so beautiful head being torn off. _"Demon"_, Luke called her. What a perfect word for her.

"I told you no, okay?" Luke says harshly, and I don't even want to think about why that fills me with smugness. "Like I said before – like I've said a _million_ times – _I'm not interested_."

"Sweetie, of _course_ you are. You're a _man_. And I'm a _very_ attractive woman."

"One of your legs is made of metal. And the other one is a donkey leg."

Okay, "demon" is _definitely _an appropriate word to use to describe her. I glance at Clarisse who mouths '_Empousai_' to me.

"Why does everyone always bring up the legs?" Kelli complains. "And don't change the subject. This is about that _girl_, isn't it?" She says _'girl'_ the way I might say _'book'_.

Luke doesn't respond.

In a triumphant voice, Kelli continues, "Oh, don't look so surprised. I know _all_ about her. You say her name in your sleep, did you know that? It's not a very common name, either, so when I saw it on the list of demigods attending Camp Half-Blood, I knew it was _her_."

"That's not– " For the first time, Luke sounds nervous. "There is no girl. She's a character from this book series I'm reading, _The Midnighters_. That's all."

"And you dream about fictional characters, do you?" Kelli asks slyly, and I imagine ruby red lips curved into a satisfied smirk.

"Sometimes I fall asleep while I'm reading the books," Luke replies a little too quickly.

"Her name is the only one you've ever mentioned," the _empousai_ counters.

"She's my favourite character. You must've misread the list of demigods," Luke says frigidly. "There's no one at camp with that name. I've never met _anyone_ with the name Dess."

I can't help it. I gasp. Loudly. Clarisse claps a hand over my mouth.

_Oh, shit._

"What was that?" Luke asks sharply.

_Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit._ We're so dead.

Fortunately, Kelli is dumber than I thought. "Don't try to distract me. I didn't misread that list, Luke. In fact, I asked our spy about her. He told me some _very_ interesting stories about you and her." There's the sound of footsteps, like she's circling Luke. "He said it was _disgusting_ how in love you two were. I was very disappointed in you, Luke. But then I thought to myself, would Luke _really_ be foolish enough to fall for one of Chiron's brats? A daughter of _Hephaestus_, no less?"

The footsteps stop. There's a long pause.

"Don't be ridiculous," Luke says at last. "I– I did date a girl named Dess. But I know my duty is to Kronos, and Dess was loyal to Chiron. Of course I wouldn't fall for the enemy."

I suddenly feel the way I did when I was eleven years old, riding my bike home from school, but I was distracted by that billboard with the double cheeseburger on it and I forgot to turn at the corner, so I rode straight into a brick wall. I remember the shock (from the impact with the wall) and the pain (from my broken wrist) very clearly, and yet this is so much worse.

"She means nothing to you?"

"That's right," Luke replies without hesitation.

"Then why do you dream of her?" Kelli says the words softly, yet I picture her eyes gleaming like a hungry predator that's cornered its prey.

"I–" Luke almost sounds like he's choking on the words he wants to say. "I don't know," he whispers.

"Well I sincerely hope you find a way to get over this unhealthy…_fixation_. We wouldn't want Lord Kronos to find out, now would we?"

"You wouldn't dare," Luke snarls.

"Maybe I would," Kelli says, laughter bubbling up in her voice, "and maybe I wouldn't."

"How do you even know that I talk in my sleep?" Luke demands. "You're not allowed in my private chambers, I specifically told the guards to keep you away at all costs–"

"And why did you tell them that?" Kelli asks, still sounding amused. "Are you afraid you would not be able to resist temptation if we were alone together in your chambers?"

"Hardly," Luke says, his voice icy. "I just don't want you harassing me all the time. And you're avoiding my question! What were you doing in my private chambers?"

"Oh, _I_'ve never been in your chambers. But the maids have, and they _do_ love to gossip."

Luke exhales loudly. "I should've known. Perhaps they need another lecture about not spreading _unfounded_ rumours unless they want to be fed to the drakon. As for you, demon, you will not discuss my personal life with anyone ever again, understood? You are to make no more inquiries about Dess to _anyone_. And if you breathe a _word_ of this to Lord Kronos–"

"Then _I_'ll be the one being fed to the drakon," Kelli finishes for him. "I'll keep that in mind. Perhaps now you should gather those status reports so we can return to the surface? I sense that you're rather _uncomfortable_ down here."

"It's nice to know you aren't _completely_ incompetent."

Kelli ignores this. "One day, Luke, you're going to change your mind about all this. Call me when you get over that tramp. Honestly Luke, a daughter of _Hephaestus_? How disfigured was she?"

"She was beautiful, actually," Luke says coldly. "More beautiful than you'll ever be."

There's the sound of footsteps again, this time moving away from us, but Clarisse and I stay hidden in the wardrobe until Kelli's shrieks of laughter have entirely faded away.

* * *

Hours later, when we're safely away from Luke and Kelli, or any of Kronos' minions, I ask Clarisse if she found anything useful. For the next ten minutes she blathers on about all the kick-ass weapons (which I didn't even notice) that she found in the back of the wardrobe (which was apparently an armory). She then tells me that she mostly found standard reports. Then, after a minute's hesitation, she pulls a piece of paper out of her jacket pocket and hands it to me, but I don't even glance at it.

"Clarisse, what have you done? What if they notice this one is missing?" I demand, though the ration part of me (which still exists, as impossible as that may seem) knows that this piece of paper must be _very_ important if Clarisse was willing to risk our mission – and our lives – to get it.

Clarisse brushes my concerns aside with a wave of her hand. "They won't. And I just…I had to take that one. I _had_ to." Her voice wobbles a little, which worries me.

I take a moment to decipher the name. _Oh._ That explains it. I read through the rest of the report, and when I'm finished I look up and meet Clarisse's slightly pained gaze with my sympathetic one.

"Clarisse, there's no way they'll find him. He's safe at camp," I say, trying to soothe her.

She glares at the ground. "I know that. But I've been thinking – even if we can somehow get Mr. D to cure him, what happens to him after? You read that report, Dess. They think he's gone back to our side. They'll kill him if he goes back. But he might not want to stay at camp, and if he _does_ stay, you know the other kids won't accept him."

I shrug my shoulders helplessly. "I don't know what to tell you, Clarisse. I guess for now we should just worry about helping Chris regain his sanity. It won't matter whose side he's on if he's dead. …Oh, sorry, that was really insensitive, wasn't it? I swear, sometimes I just open my mouth and garbage comes out…"

Clarisse tries to smile at me, but it comes out more like a grimace. I scan the report again, hoping to find something useful that will make up for my tactlessness.

"Wait, why are there question marks in his code name?"

"His code name?" Clarisse asks, her expression clueless.

Quickly, I explain to her how the demigods in Kronos' army are assigned code names according to their gender and their godly parent, using Peter's as an example.

"Oh." She frowns at the report. "You're right, Chris _does_ have question marks in his code name… S?8… I guess they don't know his godly parent, either."

"There are a lot of undetermined demigods in Kronos' army," I notice. "It says eight, but there are probably more… So even Kronos doesn't know everything… But how did he know that Julie was Dionysus' daughter?"

"Dionysus' _WHAT_?" Clarisse splutters.

I tell her all about Julie, and after she's stopped laughing uproariously at the fact that Julie's real name is Beaujolais, she says thoughtfully, "You know, it couldn't have been that hard to get her to betray Camp. I mean, once Kronos or Luke or whoever told her who her father was, she must've been angry. Because it's not like with the other gods, who never see their children and forget about even having them. Dionysus saw her _everyday_ and he still didn't claim her. That must've made her really bitter."

I let out a heavy sigh. "I know. I don't like the fact that she switched sides, and I still think it's wrong, but…I do understand."

"Well," Clarisse says, perking up slightly, "on the plus side, we could probably use this info to blackmail Mr. D into healing Chris."

I roll my eyes at her, and then I ask her if she knows how we got from New York to Louisiana after walking for only a few days' time.

She just shrugs carelessly and says, "Think about it, Dess. We_ thought_ we'd only been in the Labyrinth for a few days, but when we got out more than a month had passed. If the Labyrinth can screw up _time _that much, why wouldn't it be able to mess with _space_, too?"

Oh gods. She's getting smarter by the day. This is _so_ weird.

"All right, then. One last thing." I take a deep breath. "We have a spy at camp. Possibly more than one."

"Yeah, I know that," Clarisse replies, her tone slightly impatient. "That _empousai_ mentioned him."

"Well yeah, but…I think I sort of…read–his–report." I rush through the last three words.

"You _did_? Who was it?" Clarisse asks eagerly. "Oh, when we get back to Camp he is so–"

"I don't know," I interrupt her. "I skipped straight to the status segment. It said–" Gods, she's going to kill me just for saying this. "It said 'Infiltration successful. SAre1 remains undetected. Continues to gather information from Camp Half-Blood.'"

"SAre1… That would be–" Her expression freezes as she realizes who the spy's godly parent is. "No way. No _way_! How _dare_ you accuse– None of my brothers would ever–" She stops short, and an ugly look steals over her face. "_Sherman._"

"I don't know for sure," I say quietly. "But I would guess."

"How can you not know for sure?" she demands. "Didn't you look at the name?"

"I was about to," I snap back, "but then Luke and Kelli showed up, and you ripped the paper from my hands before I could read the name."

"Oh." Clarisse seems to deflate for a moment, but then all her anger comes back. "Well it doesn't matter if you didn't see the name! None of my other brothers would join Kronos. It has to be Sherman! We'll I-M Chiron and tell him about Sherman, and when I get back that punk is so–"

I cut her off before she can threaten to skin him alive or decapitate him or run him through with her spear, or whatever other means of violent torture she has in mind. "Clarisse, it _does_ matter! We have to be one hundred sure about it! If it's not him, than the real spy will realize that we're on to him!"

"But it _is_ him," Clarisse gripes. "You know it is."

"I _think_ it is," I correct her. "But it could be anyone. You're right, though. We should send Chiron an Iris-message. We'll warn him that there's a spy in the Ares cabin, and we'll tell him all that stuff we heard about the string most likely being in Daedalus' workshop and about how Daedalus is possibly still alive."

"Well if you really want to be _logical_," Clarisse grumbles under her breath. "Fine. But I don't have any drachmas, and I don't see how we could possibly make a rainbow. Too bad you don't still have that Hello Kitty tattoo on your face. That thing looked like it barfed up rainbows and shit out unicorns."

"Very funny," I sneer at her. "Whatever. We'll just look for Daedalus' mark again, and then we'll find a way to contact Chiron. And you know," I continue, my voice enthusiastic for once, "I bet Chiron will tell us that our quest is done! I mean, he just wanted us to explore for a bit and to try to find out where the string is, right? So now that we know, maybe he'll have us come back to Camp and he'll send someone else to actually get the string!"

"And then we'll never have to go back into the Labyrinth ever again," Clarisse concludes, a genuine smile lighting up her normally angry features.

I'm so caught up in this wondrous possibility that I don't even spare a thought to Luke's words from before – until I wake up the next morning, a note from Apollo clutched in my left hand with another horrible haiku.

_Strike two, hurry up;_

_You are almost out of time._

_Last chance, don't blow it._

* * *

**Author's Note: And yes, Neopolitan Dynamite and Choco Latte Crunch are actual ice cream flavours, according to the Baskin Robbins Canada website. I've never tried either of them, though, so I have no idea if they taste good or not.**

**If there's anyone out there with the name Beaujolais (however unlikely that may be), I'm sorry if I offended you. I've just never heard of anyone with that name before, and neither has Dess, and she's the type of person that laughs when she hears names that she thinks are strange. **

**Reviews are appreciated.**


	23. We Face Down the Exercise Balls of Death

**MAIN TITLE: The Keeper of Fate**

**WARNINGS: See first chapter for warnings.**

**NOTES: Thanks to **StarcallerPhoenix**, **chaSing b0b**, **Fangisnotmyfirstname**, **FlamePumpkin32** and **angel2u** for reviewing this chapter!**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own the PJO series. Rick Riordan does. Also, the poem on the piece of paper is from Virgil's Aeneid (I'm not sure which translation, but the particular section I used is on Wikipedia somewhere) though I changed it a bit. **

* * *

**Chapter 23: We Face Down the Winged Exercise Balls of Death**

The second I hear the band start up, I decide that I'm going to kill Apollo. I mean sure, that would probably make the sun disappear and yeah, the mortals would panic but really, if you could hear how awful this band is you wouldn't blame me.

Seriously, that jerk interrupts my perfectly wonderful dream where I'm lazing about on the couch, stuffing my face with pizza and chugging a five hundred millilitre bottle of coke while watching TV, and for what? To listen to some crappy band with a lead singer whose pants are so low that you can see his underwear.

Ugh. I turn my attention away from the idiots on the stage and instead search for the sun god. This is definitely all his fault. This entire concert just screams 'Apollo'. I push through the crowd, ignoring all the shrieking fans, craning my neck every which way. Finally, after five minutes of music blasting in my ears and dodging people who are crazily waving their hands in the air, I catch sight of a familiar blond-haired figure in jeans and a leather jacket standing apart from the rest of the crowd. What really gives him away, though, is that he's wearing Ray-Bans. At a concert. At night.

I break away from the crowd, and as I march over to Apollo he takes off his shades and flashes a huge grin at me. He stops smiling, however, when I punch him in the face.

"Hey! What was that for?" he demands, looking half bewildered and half livid. "My beautiful nose! What have you _done_ to it?"

"Oh please, you're a _god_, like it even hurts at all," I snap back.

"Huh." He stops rubbing his precious nose. "You're right. It doesn't." His focus shifts back to me. "But still, why did you punch me? You know I could blast you to pieces for doing that?"

"This is a dream," I point out. "Not real."

"Ah," he says, all traces of anger fading away entirely as a sly smile makes its way across his face. "That's where you're wrong. Dreams are more real than you think. Sometimes they're even more real than reality."

"You're only saying that you're the god of dreams."

He stares at me like I've fatally wounded him. "Dess! _Morpheus_ is the god of dreams! How could you confuse my fabulous self with that– that _minor_ god?"

"Whatever. I meant prophecies. Same thing."

"It's _not_ the same thing. Not at _all_. And you know it." He narrows his eyes at me.

"_Whatever_," I repeat. "What am I even doing here? What do you want?" Because he always wants _something_.

Apollo frowns at me. "That note I sent you a few days ago? You tore it up."

"I did." I glare fixedly at a strobe light several metres away, because his eyes are starting to flare like the sun and looking into them is kinda painful.

"Why?"

"Why?" I scoff. "Why do you think? Because it was completely useless."

"It was not–" he begins, his tone indignant.

"Uh, yeah, it was," I say. "Blah, blah, blah, you failed yet again, blah, blah, blah, you've only got one shot left. It's just–" I break off abruptly. I look him directly in the eye and continue, "Look, you sent me that first note after Luke found me in the forest a year ago. Now you send me one after I'm nearly caught by him in the Labyrinth. _Why?_ What the hell was I supposed to do? Burst out of that wardrobe and try to run him through with my sword? That would be suicide."

He stares at me in exasperated surprise. "Of course that's not what you were supposed to do. Did you think I wanted you to _kill_ him?"

"Um…yes?" I say uncertainly. "Isn't that what you want?"

"Zeus no!" he exclaims. "Honestly, Dess, if I wanted him dead, don't you think I could've gotten someone better for the job?"

Huh. That's a really good point. But what else could he want me to do? And why does it have to be _me_?

"Dess," Apollo groans, "I don't want you to _kill _him. You're just supposed to _talk _to him."

I stare. "Talk. You want me to _talk_ to him."

The teen looks at me like I'm acting incredibly dumb. "Yeah. That first time in the forest – you could've tried a little harder to convince him to stay, you know. You shouldn't have stormed off like that. Your pride got the better of you. You know it true!" he adds hurriedly, noticing that I'm opening my mouth.

"And what about when I was in that wardrobe eavesdropping on him?" I ask, clenching my fists. "I was just supposed to charge out there and try to talk some sense into him, after all this time? It's still suicide! That thing – that _empousai_, Kelli – she would've killed me! And Luke would've joined her without a second thought!"

Apollo lets out a frustrated sigh. "I knew you were dense, Dess, but I didn't think you were _this_ bad! Did you listen to a _word_ Luke said down there? For some reason that I can't even fathom, he prefers you over that Kelli chick. Mmm, I had a vision of her – she's _hot_. Shame about the legs. And I guess the fact that she works for Kronos would be a problem too," he adds as an afterthought. He notices me staring at him as though he's mad. "Look, the point is, if you had shown yourself and Kelli tried to attack you, Luke would've backed you up."

"You can't know that for sure," I counter, my tone like acid.

"If that's what you want to believe. But I don't have much time left," he says, swiftly changing the subject. "Zeus will notice if I stay much longer, and he would be pissed if he knew how much I was interfering with – well, _everything_.

"What I really wanted to tell you: in about a year, you're going to get your last chance to convince Luke to come back to our side. You'll see him again before that, of course, but you won't have the opportunity to talk to him. Not sure why. Damn Fates messing with my reception.

"But Dess – when I say last chance, I mean _last chance_." His voice is suddenly urgent. "You blow it, that's it. Whoever is supposed to die will die. If the gods are supposed to fall, if Western Civilization is supposed to crumble to dust, if the world itself is supposed to come to an end – it will. There'll be no way to stop it."

For a moment I can only stare at him, stunned. "You're kidding, right? I can't possibly have that much of an impact!"

"You'd be surprised by how big an influence small decisions can have," Apollo says, his voice light-hearted again, his lips curving into a mysterious smile. "It's the butterfly effect. You're definitely not important enough to decide the fate of the world, but you can affect the people who _are_."

"Thanks a lot, Apollo. You always know just what to say," I tell him, too staggered by everything he's told me to really inject the proper amount of sarcasm into my tone.

"Anytime, sweetheart. Anytime." He winks, grins, and then slips his shades back on.

And then everything fades out.

* * *

When I finally manage to wrench my eyes open, I find that the fire has been extinguished and Clarisse is folding up her sleeping bag. As I sit up and stretch, yawning the entire time, Clarisse shoves her sleeping bag into her duffel and then rudely snatches mine away from me so she can pack it up too. I guess she's still grumpy about earlier. I woke her up for guard duty a few hours ago and she practically threw a fit. Mind you, I'm about twenty times worse, so I can't really complain.

I rummage through my bag for a water bottle and a plastic container of cereal. Normally I don't like dry cereal, but it's fruit loops so I don't really mind. Plus I'm freaking starving right now. I stuff my face for a couple of minutes and then remember what little manners I have. I take a swig of water to wash down the last of my breakfast and then ask Clarisse if she's eaten yet. She tells me she has, so I put the cereal away.

Now, most people brush their teeth and wash their face when they wake up, but obviously we don't have access to a sink. Or soap. Or a toothbrush and toothpaste. Still, we try to be as hygienic as possible. So it's only after we make several (pathetic) attempts at freshening up that we finally decide to leave the hexagon-shaped chamber we wandered into last night.

I take a little vial wrapped in one of my spare Camp Half-Blood T-shirts out of the front pocket of my knapsack. See, a couple of days ago we stumbled upon some sort of lab, and we were all excited 'cause we thought it was Daedalus', but of course it wasn't.

But anyways, we examined a lot of the test tubes in the lab and Clarisse found one with this weird, clear liquid that smelled really, _really_ bad. Like rotten eggs mixed with an overload of cologne, combined with the odour you get when you spread peanut butter on Mr. Christie's chocolate chip cookies and put it in the microwave for five minutes.

We brought the vial with us because we figured it could mask that demigod smell that clings to us all the time. We don't use it on _ourselves_ of course. We just use it to cover our trail, and so far it seems to be working.

"So where are we headed now?" I ask the daughter of Ares, after I've poured a couple of drops of the putrid liquid onto the ground. Automatically, we back away and start breathing through our mouths.

"No idea," Clarisse grumbles, as I wrap the vial back up in my T-shirt and put it back into my bag. "Down this damn corridor again, I guess."

Which is the answer I always get when I ask that question. I swear, all these tunnels are exactly the same. It doesn't matter if some have brick walls while others have stone, or if the floors are grimy and gravelly or spotless and smooth. It's still the same old Labyrinth day in and day out. All these tunnels that lead to nowhere and yet somehow everywhere. Forget bloodthirsty monsters and deadly traps; I bet it was the monotony that really drove Chris crazy. Not that I would say any of this to Clarisse. She'd kill me.

Anyways, after nearly an hour of dodging said bloodthirsty monsters and deadly traps, we reach a fork in the road. Both paths have gates that are made of what looks suspiciously like bone. The gate on the left has a series of worn, eerie looking bars, while the gate on the right has intricate designs and patterns and seems to shine even though there's no light hitting it. Hung up on the wall between the two gates is a piece of paper (or parchment or papyrus or whatever) with cursive writing on it.

Clarisse and I glance at each other. I shrug my shoulders, and then we walk up to the piece of paper and try to decipher the mess of squiggly lines. It takes us almost ten minutes, but we manage to figure it out. Well, most of it, that is. The ink is a little blotted in some places. Unfortunately, the blotted out words are probably the most important. This is what it says:

_Two gates the silent house of Sleep adorn;_  
_Of polished ivory this, that of transparent horn:_  
_True visions through _(it's blotted here) _arise;_  
_Through _(and here too)_ pass deluding lies._

"So I'm guessing the gate on the left is the 'transparent horn' one, and the gate on the right is the 'polished ivory'," I state, feeling very thankful that neither gate is made of human bones like I thought.

"Great," Clarisse groans. "Now we have to choose which path to take, and if we choose wrong…"

"We'll most likely wind up dead," I finish for her.

"At least it's clear which one we should choose," Clarisse says, looking slightly mollified.

"Exactly." I nod. "Obviously we should choose the–"

"Horn," Clarisse declares, at the same time I conclude, "Ivory."

We look at each other.

"The horn, Clarisse, really? But the ivory's so shiny and pretty!"

"Which is why it's most likely the gate with the 'deluding lies'," Clarisse argues. "Most people would assume the ivory is the right gate because it looks nicer, but it's really just a trick. The horn is probably the one with 'true visions'."

I frown as I realize that she's probably right. People associate beauty with good things like truth, but the Labyrinth is designed to trip people up, so…

"You know," I say slowly, "this looks kind of familiar, the two gates and the poem. Through one gate lies truth, through the other false visions…" I ponder the phrase for a moment, trying to remember where I heard it. "I got it! This was in _Class of the Titans_, too!"

"Right," Clarisse says, skeptical and unimpressed. "So which gate is it?"

"It's–" I begin, and Clarisse perks up. "…I don't know."

"What do you _mean_ you don't _know_?" Clarisse demands.

"Well, uh, they didn't really say anything about horn or ivory in the episode," I tell her sheepishly. "So I'm not really sure which gate was the truth one. Actually, I don't really remember much about the episode to begin with. But one thing I do remember is these demons coming out of the gates and then giving one of the characters horrible nightmares."

"Do you think they actually exist?" Clarisse asks, looking almost afraid.

"Not sure." I frown. "You ever heard the name 'Oneiroi' before?"

"No," Clarisse says. Then, her eyes widening, she adds, "That wouldn't happen to be them, would it?"

Huh? I look in the direction she's pointing, only to see both gates burst open and creatures I assume to be the Oneiroi fly out.

_Holy Styx. _I mean, I knew they would look creepy, but this is just… See, in the _Class of the Titans_ episode, the Oneiroi just looked like weird bat things. The real version, on the other hand… You know that annoying fairy from that Zelda game, Navi? Well, the Oneiroi look a little like that, except instead of being little spheres of blue light, they're… I don't think black describes them right. They look more like voids of darkness the size of exercise balls. And the _wings_ – no cute fairy wings here. These are more like a skeleton's fingers with spider webs hanging between. …Actually, the more I think about it, they look nothing like Navi.

Simultaneously, the Oneiroi let out bloodcurdling shrieks – though I've no idea how that's possible, seeing as how they don't appear to have mouths. Then again, that never stopped Navi from giving annoying, unnecessary advice.

For a long moment, the creatures simply hover in the air before us, their high-pitched screeches nearly shattering our eardrums. Then, without warning, the closest Oneiroi dives at me, two more following behind it. I lift my sword to defend myself as Clarisse hefts her spear. I swing my sword when the monster is mere inches from me, but the bronze blade passes right through it.

Before I can blink away my shock, the Oneiroi slams into my chest. Only it's not like when you're hit with a baseball or a Hellhound's claw or Clarisse's spear. I don't feel the impact in just one place; I feel it _everywhere_.

At first it's like my entire body is being enveloped in pain. My muscles and veins all constrict. Then I go blind. My eyes aren't closed, but everything's so dark – except there's a strange brightness flickering at the edges of my vision, eating up the darkness.

It takes me a few seconds to realize that that brightness is actually fire. And it's not just the darkness that's being consumed by flames; there are buildings burning, too. Twelve cabins and one huge blue farmhouse – the Big House.

Camp. Camp is burning to the ground.

This can't be real. How am I seeing this? Camp is practically a world away. My eyes aren't even open. So then…this is a vision. But how do I know if it's real or not?

_Through one gate lies truth, through the other false visions._

The gates are the key, but I don't know which one brings truth and which one brings lies.

Then I feel the shock of another Oneiroi hitting me. The image of my home being destroyed fades, and then it's like I'm flying over New York. How do I know it's New York? Simple. I can see the Empire State Building. To my horror, it's under attack. There are blue lights raining down on it like a meteor shower. They vanish when they get too close, though, so I guess the real problem is on the ground.

There's a battle raging on the streets of New York. Everywhere I look, there's bloodshed. Titans and monsters and demigods, wounding or maiming or killing kids in orange T-shirts. Hunters are dying left and right. I never got along with them very well, but they certainly don't deserve to die!

Another Oneiroi hits me, and the bloodstained battlefield is replaced by one last vision. It's Luke. Same old sandy blond hair, same old blinding white smile (only a lot more sinister looking).

But his eyes – his eyes are _gold_.

How the hell do eyes change colour like that? What happened to that bright shade of forget-me-not blue that I once loved so much?

Abruptly, my muscles and veins relax, the pain vanishes, and my sight returns. As I draw in a huge lungful of air, I realize I was holding my breath the entire time.

"_Damn it!_ How are we supposed to kill these things?"

With a start, I realize the Clarisse is still stubbornly trying to fight the winged demons even though her spear passes right through them.

"Clarisse, stop! There's nothing you can do! Let's just get out of here!" I urge her, my voice oddly hoarse.

"Like hell!" Clarisse snarls. "After what they just did to you?"

"Clarisse, just forget it– _Clarisse,_ _don't!_" I yell, as she completely abandons her weapon and charges at the nearest Oneiroi with her fists held high.

And then I see what she must've seen when the Oneiroi slammed into me. As I watch, all the visible veins in her body turn a startling shade of black – including the veins in her eye balls, which are bulging. Her entire form is shuddering violently. Her mouth is open in a silent scream of terror, and it doesn't look like she's breathing at all, either.

This is literally the creepiest thing I have ever seen in my life. Now I get why she was so determined to make them pay for what they did to me. Just watching Clarisse like this – strong, unshakeable Clarisse, now reduced to a quivering, vulnerable mess – fills me with so much rage that my head throbs.

A single thought breaks through all my red-hot fury.

_What do I do?_

I can't fight them. My sword doesn't harm them at all, and even as I stand here trying to find a solution, more of them fly out of the gates and swarm in around us. Some of them swoop down at Clarisse, while others turn towards me.

My first instinct is to run. And I'll admit it: I'm more than ready to follow that instinct. I back away from the Oneiroi, from the two gates, from Clarisse. She's my friend, but those visions… I can't go through that again.

I take another step back and prepare to run back down the corridor, though some small part of my brain is screaming at me to stay, to try to save Clarisse, just like she tried to save me.

But it doesn't make a difference, because one of the Oneiroi slams into me again, and this time it's not forcing a vision onto me, or robbing me of my sight, or making all my muscles constrict. This time it's just making throat constrict, cutting off my air supply.

This time it's killing me.

A random fact I got from Annabeth: humans can only last a few minutes without air before their brain cells die and they turn into vegetables.

How many minutes do I have left?

How many minutes does Clarisse have left?

Maybe this is karma or the gods or the Fates or whoever, punishing me for trying to abandon a friend in need instead of doing the right thing.

I think about Clarisse – and my brothers and Cheryl and Chiron – and my mother who really did love me once upon a time, and my father who I always hated for never being there – and Luke.

I think about what Apollo said in my dream, and what Luke himself said to Kelli. I think about Annabeth and Thalia, and how, despite everything Luke had done, they still believed in him.

And I realize that maybe I shouldn't have given up on him so easily. Maybe he wasn't just trying to get Kelli off his back like I thought. Maybe on that day in the forest years ago, when he asked me to come with him, he wanted me to come because he really did care. Because he didn't want to live without me, the same way that I didn't want to live without him.

But it's too late for maybes. All the mistakes I've ever made, all of my regrets, they're all buzzing around in my head, but it's too late.

_I'm sorry. I'm sorry._

I don't know who I'm apologizing to.

I think my vision is going blurry. I think my time's up.

_Dad, I'm sorry._

The last thing I hear is the sound of rushing water.

And then everything fades out.

* * *

**Author's Note: Reviews are appreciated. Hope you're all having a wonderful day!**


	24. Karma Bites Me in the Butt

**MAIN TITLE: The Keeper of Fate**

**WARNINGS: See first chapter for warnings.**

**NOTES: Thanks to **chaSing b0b**,** FlamePumpkin32**,** nickiR0x **and** Cynical Gummy Bear **for reviewing this chapter!**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own the PJO series. Rick Riordan does. Again, the poem is from Virgil's Aeneid.**

* * *

**Chapter 24: Karma Bites Me in the Butt**

After what I assume is just a few seconds, I regain consciousness and sit up, only to wish I hadn't.

I don't remember if I ever told you this before, but I'm actually really afraid of water. Especially when it's churning all around me in a mad rush like a whirlpool. Which – of _course_ – just so happens to be the case right now. The waves are crashing into the Oneiroi and washing them away, back into the gates. The strangest thing, though, is that the water doesn't touch me. It's like there's some sort of barrier around me or something. I'm completely dry.

It takes a few moments for the water to die down entirely. When it does, I notice several things: one, all the Oneiroi are gone and the gates have slammed shut again; two, I'm still alive; three, Clarisse is still alive and dry and is staggering to her feet; and four, there's a guy dressed in Bermuda shorts and holding a trident standing a few metres away from us.

All right. Bermuda shorts and a trident. Water sweeping away the Oneiroi but leaving Clarisse and me completely dry. It doesn't take a genius to figure out who this guy is. (Which is good, you know, for us non-genius folk.)

My throat is really sore and I feel kinda lightheaded, but I manage to stand up, bow, and croak, "Lord Poseidon."

Looking extremely unwilling, Clarisse follows my lead. "Lord Poseidon," she grumbles. I guess she's not a big fan of the Sea God, considering he's Percy's father.

I shuffle my feet uneasily, waiting for Poseidon to say something, but he doesn't. He glances at Clarisse for a few moments before shifting his gaze to me. I cough slightly, then venture, "So uh, thanks for saving us and stuff, Lord."

He inclines his head at me, but still doesn't say anything. He frowns at me, hopefully not in an 'I'm-trying-to-decide-whether-or-not-I-should-kill-you' kind of way.

"What are _you _doing here?" Clarisse demands, which seems to me like an unnecessarily rude question to ask someone who can destroy you in the millisecond it takes you to blink.

Thankfully, the god doesn't blow up at us. "Saving your lives," he answers calmly, finally looking away from me.

"But _why_?" Clarisse asks. I shoot her a 'Shut _up_!' glare, wishing she was standing next to me so I could step on her foot. The daughter of Ares ignores me and continues, "I thought gods weren't supposed to get involved in quests."

"That is true," he acknowledges. "And normally I would not dare to risk Zeus' wrath by rescuing a demigod. However, you girls have done me a great service, and therefore I was permitted to repay you by interfering just this once."

_A great service? _Clarisse and I glance at each other, startled. I don't remember doing any great service for him.

Reminding myself that I have to be careful with my words, I respond, "Well, um, we're still very grateful that you saved us, my lord, though of course we didn't do that great service for you just so you would owe us a favour. …Uh, by the way, what exactly _was_ that great service we did for you?"

Clarisse face-palms. Guess that wasn't the smartest thing to say. Oops.

Instead of looking angry, however, Poseidon looks deeply amused. "I am referring to the sea monster you destroyed in Louisiana. For several months it plagued my kingdom, terrorizing my subjects. I was always too busy to take care of it. Now at last it is gone and my subjects are free from it."

Clarisse's face lights up in understanding. "Oh, you mean the Kraken!"

"_Ketos,_" I correct her.

Poseidon stares at us for a few seconds. Then, before our shocked eyes, he bursts out laughing. "You thought that miniscule creature was the _Ketos_?"

"_Miniscule_? That monster was freaking huge!" I protest.

Still chortling, the Sea God replies, "Compared to the _Ketos_, it isn't. The real thing is as tall as a skyscraper. If you were to face it, you would be dead within seconds."

Offended, Clarisse challenges, "Then what was that thing we faced, if it wasn't the Kraken?"

Percy's father shrugs his shoulders. "Probably one of its offspring. The point is that the monster was a danger to my people, and you got rid of it. Therefore, I was indebted to you, and I saw fit to come to your aid when the _Oneiroi_ attacked you."

Her anger subsiding, Clarisse nods. Then she pales when I say, "Lord Poseidon, about the _Oneiroi_… Are the visions they showed us real? Will they come true?"

"That depends," Poseidon answers, "on which gate the _Oneiroi_ came through." He jerks his head towards the plaque between the two gates and, filling in the blotted parts, recites:

"_Two gates the silent house of Sleep adorn;_

_Of polished ivory this, that of transparent horn:_

_True visions through _transparent horn _arise;_

_Through _polished ivory_ pass deluding lies."_

"I knew it!" The words nearly explode out of Clarisse's mouth. She turns to me triumphantly. "I told you the ivory gate was the wrong one!"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," I mutter.

"Those lines are from Virgil's Aeneid," Poseidon explains. "Aeneas, son of Ve–" He abruptly cuts off before continuing: "The son of _Aphrodite_ encountered the two gates on his journey to found Rome. The _Oneiroi_ are the physical representation of dreams. They are sons of Hypnos, and they dwell beyond these gates." His face darkens as he adds, "Supposedly only Morpheus, god of dreams, can open the gates and release them."

"So either Morpheus wants us dead–" Clarisse starts.

"–or someone else is controlling the gates," I finish the thought.

"I fear it is worse than that," Poseidon says grimly. "I fear that Morpheus is indeed controlling the gates, but my father is controlling _him_. Or still worse, he has turned his back on the Olympians and is _willingly_ working for the Titan lord." Then he relaxes a little and says in a hopeful tone, "Though as you said, girl, Morpheus might simply have a grudge against the two of you and want you both dead."

Wonderful. That makes me feel so much better. Though I have to admit, I'd rather have Morpheus after me than Kronos.

"Right," I say. Then, remembering the way the Sea God was frowning at me earlier, I decide it's time for us to leave and conclude, "So, uh, thanks for the mythology lesson. And for saving our lives. We'll just be on our way."

Tightening his grip on his trident, he says, "Not yet, you won't. I have a question for you."

"A question, my lord?" I squeak out, instantly made nervous by the sudden change in his demeanor.

Smiling in a decidedly cold manner, the Sea God says, "Yes, a question. The Fates have recently informed me that someone has been interfering with my son's fate. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

"Please," Clarisse scoffs, "Dess doesn't have the brains or the power to mess with anyone's fate. You're wasting your time by accusing her."

I want to agree with her. I haven't been messing with anyone's fate.

Except that that's not entirely true. I'm going along with Apollo's plan to defy the Great Prophecy, aren't I? And if something happens to Thalia, Percy might be the child of the prophecy, meaning that by defying it I'm interfering with his fate.

The silence stretches on as I stand there, frozen. If I tell the god I don't know what he's talking about, will he know I'm lying and turn me into a fish? But if I tell him the truth, won't he be even angrier?

Poseidon narrows his eyes at me and hisses, "I might have saved you from the _Oneiroi_, girl, but I will not hesitate to kill you if you continue to endanger my son's life. My friendship with your father will not save you. And pass this message on to Apollo– our friendship will not save _him_. I do not know what he is planning, but he _will_ face my wrath if he brings harm to my son in any way, however indirectly."

He starts to glow and I automatically turn away. When I look back, he's gone.

* * *

For what must be the hundredth time, Clarisse asks, "What the _hell _was that about?"

It's been approximately fifteen minutes since the Sea God disappeared, and we've spent that time getting as far away from the gates and the _Oneiroi_ as possible. Now we're walking along a random tunnel and, as usual, we have no idea where we're going. On top of this, Clarisse has been badgering me the whole while and it's driving me crazy. She just won'tshut up.

"I've already told you," I explain through gritted teeth, "that I _can't tell you_."

Unfazed by my obvious irritation, she plows on with her questioning: "Why does he think you messed with Prissy's fate? Why didn't you defend yourself? Why did he mention Apollo?"

If I had a pillow right now, I would be screaming into it. Or possibly using it to suffocate Clarisse.

"For the hundredth freaking time, Clarisse, _I can't tell you_! Gods, you are so annoying! I can't believe I actually felt guilty for trying to leave you with the _Oneiroi_!" The words burst out of my mouth before I can think them through.

Clarisse stops dead in her tracks. Mentally cringing, I do the same.

"_What_," she begins, her voice low and deadly, "did you just say?"

"Um, I said that you're, uh, annoying?" Probably not the best thing to say, but better than telling her I was going to leave her to die at the hands of the _Oneiroi_.

"No," she snarls, "the _other_ part. The part about how you were going to _abandon_ me and leave me to _die_."

"Oh, _that _part! That was just a joke! April Fools!" That's what I would say to her if I was suicidal. But I'm not, so instead I keep silent.

"Oh my gods," she says. She lets out an incredulous yet bitter laugh. "You were _actually_ going to leave me there. After all those times I stood by you, after all those time I saved your life despite the fact that I was putting my own in danger, _you were going to leave me there_."

Tears prickle in the corners of my eyes. Guilt surges through me. Because she doesn't just look angry. She looks _hurt_.

I remember when we were in the Hephaestus tunnels practically a lifetime ago. I remember how Clarisse told me that I was one of her best friends.

Now I know – and she does too – that I don't even qualify as her friend, let alone one of her best. A real friend wouldn't do what I nearly did to her.

"I'm sorry, Clarisse," I whisper, a tear sliding down my cheek.

She walks away. I follow, but no matter how many times I try to apologize, she just ignores me and keeps walking.

* * *

Three hours later the only thing she's said to me is: "I'm hungry. Where's the food?" I saved her from walking right into a pit of spikes a while ago, but of course she's still mad, and I don't blame her. So I'm feeling pretty miserable by the time we reach the fork in the road that looks like a capital T.

I stop sulking the second I hear a strange squealing sound coming from the left path. Knowing that a monster is probably headed toward us we both draw our weapons, just as an automated boar with giant metal tusks comes hurtling around the corner. It screeches to a halt a few metres away from us.

Clarisse immediately charges it, and after a moment's hesitation I follow her lead. I try to cut off its tusks while Clarisse jabs at its side with her spear. Both our weapons bounce off the boar harmlessly.

I swear under my breath and back up as the boar tries to dig his tusks into my right arm. I've already got a scar there from that giant eagle that attacked me a few months ago. I don't want another one.

Clarisse sets her jaw and tries to stab it again with the same results. She charges it again and again and again, each time seeming to more and more power into her blows. Nothing happens. Meanwhile, I've been doing my best to guard her while trying to figure out a way to kill it.

Desperate, I shout to Clarisse, "Isn't the boar your father's sacred animal? Can't you tell it go away or something?"

"This isn't a real boar," she snaps back, trying to impale the creature's backside. "It's an automaton. That's _your_ father's domain, not mine. Maybe _you _should tell it to back off– unless you'd rather run away and leave me to deal with it _on my own_."

Wincing slightly at the last part, I decide that I might as well try talking to the boar, though I make sure to get behind it before I speak: "Uh, hey, Mr. Automated Boar. Could you maybe stop attacking us? I mean, I guess we technically attacked you first, but anyways… I'm sure your creator would be grateful if you refrained from killing me and Clarisse. I'm a daughter of Hephaestus, you see. Isn't that great?"

At the sound of the fire god's name, the boar wheels around to face me. At first I think my speech has worked. Then the boar starts squealing angrily and pounding the ground with its hooves like it's about to launch itself at me. Which is exactly what it does. Of course.

I scream and dive out of the way, landing on my left shoulder. _Ow. Ow. Ow._ As the boar thunders passed me, I notice that there's a big red button on its belly. Ignoring my injured shoulder, I wait for the boar to turn around and charge at me again. When it does, I roll out of the way and then reach under it to press the big red button.

A perky, generic voice – like the ones you hear on the phone claiming that you've won an all-expense paid vacation to Disneyland or whatever – announces: "Self-destruct sequence activated. Sixty seconds to detonation. Sixty, fifty-nine, fifty-eight…"

"What the hell did you do?" Clarisse screams at me. Meanwhile, the boar is squealing in panic and bashing its head into the wall like as though it thinks that will make the countdown stop. Pebbles rain down on its head.

"I don't know! I just pushed the big red button!" I whimper.

"Oh my gods, Dess, don't you know that you should never press the big red button because it always means something will explode?" she groans, exasperated.

"Forty-six, forty-five, forty-four," the cheery voice continues.

"Dess, you got us into this mess. Now get us out," Clarisse demands.

"I– Oh, all right, fine! I'll try. But you have to help me," I say.

"Whatever," she mutters.

We both run to the boar that's still bashing its head into the wall and crouch down on either side of it. The left path of the 'T' is right behind me and I'm a little nervous that some other monster is going to come speeding down the corridor and attack us. But for now I suppose the imminent explosion is the more urgent matter.

Being this close to the metal boar, the announcer's voice is so loud that my head starts pounding. "Thirty-two, thirty-one, thirty…"

Clarisse grabs the boar in a headlock to keep it still. Grimacing, I duck my head under the boar and turn my attention to where the big red button used to be. I guess when I pressed it it vanished, revealing the inside of the boar. I tinker with the wires, trying to not to do anything that would probably either speed up the self-destruct sequence or detonate the automaton instantly.

"Twenty-one, twenty, nineteen…"

I push myself out from under the boar and shake my head at Clarisse, defeated. "I've never seen machinery like this. This boar wasn't made by my father. Someone else made it. And whoever they are, from the looks of it they're even better than him at forging automatons." This thought troubles me for a second, and then I'm over it. "But never mind that now. This thing is going to blow any second. Let's get out of here while we can."

The brunette daughter of Ares considers this option for a moment. She releases the boar. Then she grins a creepy, crazy-looking grin and says, "We tried your way of stopping the countdown. Now let's try _my _way." She reaches a hand underneath the boar and into the hole with all the wiring. When she withdraws it, she's grasping a handful of wires.

The countdown abruptly stops. Clarisse is looking all pleased with herself until the perky voice announces: "Systems damaged. Initiate detonation in five, four–"

Terror seizes me and I do the only think that makes sense: I scramble down the left path as fast as I can, trying to get as far away from the boar as possible. I glance over my shoulder just as the announcer chirps "One!" and am relieved to see that Clarisse is also running away from the boar– in the opposite direction as me, true, but that's better than sticking around for the explosion.

And speaking of explosions… I shield my eyes and hit the ground. The poor automated boar squeals its final squeal as it's blown apart. A small piece of metal ricochets off my leg, but that's the only thing that hits me. Knowing that the explosion is over, I sit up and open my eyes. As I glance around I note that most of the rubble landed just short of my body. When I shift my gaze to where I last saw Clarisse, I see that she's fine and already getting back on her feet. I do the same, then grab one of my knapsack's straps and sling it over my uninjured shoulder. It's a miracle that I managed to hold on to my bag through that entire ordeal.

As I make my way over to Clarisse, carefully avoiding stepping on any of the sharp bits of metal that litter the floor, the ceiling starts to rumble and the ground shakes violently.

Oh no. Oh _no_. Do the Fates hate us or something? I mean _really_. After everything that _just_ happened, now the ceiling is caving in?

Desperate, I gauge the distance between myself and Clarisse. _Can I make it in time? Am I fast enough?_ A boulder comes loose and crashes to the ground. _That would be a 'no' to both questions, then._

I back up until I think I'll be safe from the falling debris. And then I watch as the ceiling completely falls apart.

* * *

Ten minutes later, I stop shifting rocks and admit to myself that I'm never going to be able to make a path to Clarisse's corridor that's big enough for me to fit through.

"Any luck?" Clarisse shouts from her side.

"None," I yell back miserably. "This is impossible! Every time I move a rock out of the way another takes its place."

"Listen, Dess, I think we're going to have to separate! You keep going down that tunnel, and I'll continue along this one. Maybe they'll come together eventually."

Shit. We _can't_ separate. I wouldn't last five minutes without her!

A small, annoying voice in my head says dryly, _Don't have much choice, do you?_

Damn it. Stupid voice in my head is right.

Seeing no other option, I shout back my agreement with her plan. I wish there was a way to give her some of the food in my bag, seeing as I've been carrying it all and she doesn't have any. I hope she doesn't starve.

"Right, well… Bye then, I guess," I call to her.

"Wait, Dess…" I perk up slightly. Maybe she's going to tell me that she forgives me for nearly leaving her to die. "These paths might not join up at all. So our main goal should be to find Daedalus' mark and head back to Camp. We need to report everything back to Chiron. So don't waste time looking for me, all right? And if you make it back and I don't, tell Chiron not to send anyone in after me, okay?"

My stomach drops. "Are you freaking kidding me? You would want us to just leave you down here? You'd die!"

"That didn't stop you before. Bye, Dess." I hear the sound of her footsteps retreating.

Geez, she knows how to guilt-trip people. But I don't have time to feel guilty. Clarisse is right. Getting the info about Daedalus back to Chiron is the most important thing right now. And, you know, surviving would be great too.

Taking a deep breath, I start down the corridor, wondering why the Labyrinth seems so much darker when I'm walking alone.

* * *

What feels like three days later, I am miraculously not dead. Can you believe that? I lasted a whole three days on my own! _Three_!

Granted, I have absolutely no idea where I'm going and I jump a good five feet in the air every time I hear even the smallest of noises, but still. I'm alive. That's always a good start.

I round a corner and scan the walls and ceiling for a Greek delta. Nothing. Damn it. Am I _ever_ going to get out of here? And if I do find a way out, where will I end up? What if I end up in like, Antarctica or Australia or something? Or Mexico? Or China? Or Brazil or Egypt or France? What if I end up in the North Pole at Santa's Workshop? Do elves speak English? That's the only language I know! How am I supposed to get back to Camp if I can't communicate with the elves?

_Okay, calm down._ _Chiron said that the Labyrinth probably only exists under America, remember?_

Oh. Right. That's true. Thank you, voice in my head.

…Wait a minute. What if I end up in _Alaska_? That's part of America!

I stand there for several minutes in a frenzy of panic. My nerves are totally fried from three days of wandering alone in an underground maze, so when I feel a hand on my shoulder I scream hysterically, close my eyes and whirl around, lashing out at whoever the person is.

"Whoa, Dess, calm down, it's just me!"

My eyes snap open and stare, stunned, into the face of my ex-boyfriend.

* * *

**Author's Note: So. Poseidon was completely OOC, but in my defense he's concerned for his only mortal son. Is Tyson mortal? Well, his only demigod son, at least.**

**I made up the part about Morpheus controlling the two gates. There's nothing about that in the myths according to Wikipedia, but I thought it was fitting considering he's the god of dreams.**

**Reviews are appreciated. **


	25. I Have the Worst Birthday Ever

**MAIN TITLE: The Keeper of Fate**

**WARNINGS: See first chapter for warnings.**

**NOTES: Thanks to **angel2u**, **Cynical Gummy Bear**, **chaSing b0b**, **EvilFairy12**, **Guest**, **Black Roses Wilt**, **CrazyHalf-Blood31** and **Richasa** for reviewing this chapter!**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own the PJO series. Rick Riordan does. I pretty much ripped this chapter's title off of chapter 9 of ****_The Sea of Monsters_****, "I Have the Worst Family Reunion Ever".**

* * *

**Chapter 25: I Have the Worst Birthday Ever**

I blink several times and then rub my eyes vigorously, convinced that I'm seeing things. Except that no matter how many times I shut my eyes and open them again, the boy is still standing there, tall as a bean pole. His glasses hanging off the end of his nose; his long, shaggy light brown hair gathered into a loose ponytail at the nape of his neck; the tag sticking out from the front of his T-shirt because _of course _he accidently put it on backwards; his precious Pikachu backpack that I gave him for his fifteenth birthday slung over one shoulder, mostly likely containing a dozen bottles of hand-sanitizer, about twenty emergency first-aid kits, and probably more floss than anyone will ever need in a lifetime.

This has to be Kyle. I glance down at his feet. Two pairs of socks are visible. Okay. That settles it. Kyle never leaves his house unless he's wearing two pairs of socks, even in the middle of summer, so that his raggedy sneakers always look fit to burst.

The first thing I say is, "Oh. My. Gods. What the _hell_ are you doing here?" Because this is the freaking _Labyrinth_ with deadly traps and vicious monsters and _not a place for mortals._

"That's a nice thing to say to the best friend you haven't seen in, oh, three years? Four, maybe? Something like that. And geez, you don't even have the courtesy to look like you recently bathed. You look like you haven't seen a shower in weeks," he says, grinning to show that he's joking, though his nose is wrinkled a little and I know that he really is disgusted. Anyone would be, even if they weren't a nut-job hygiene freak like Kyle.

"That's because I haven't," I retort angrily, more out of embarrassment than actual irritation.

"Oh. Eww." He wrinkles his nose even more. "I have shampoo and soap in my bag. You can use that to get clean."

"My hygiene is not the important issue right now!" I say, exasperated. "Do you know where we _are_?"

"Of course," he says in a superior tone, as though my question was incredibly stupid. "We're, oh, say, three hours away from downtown Toronto."

My mouth falls open in shock. Then I close it before he can tell me that I'll catch flies like that. "You're _kidding_ me." A sudden thought strikes me. "That's not possible. Chiron said the Labyrinth only exists under America…" Except that that's not exactly what he said, is it? He just said that he _thought_ it only exists there. And Toronto is so close to the U.S., it's not such a stretch to believe that the Labyrinth expanded under it, too.

"Well your Chiron isn't very smart, is he? Because I got here through an entrance in the ROM," he says, smiling smugly while pushing his glasses higher on his nose.

Now genuinely annoyed, I snap back, "I'm talking about THE Chiron, the centaur from Greek mythology! The one that's thousands of years old, the one that's taught famous heroes that could snap you like a twig if they wanted to. He's way smarter than you!"

He grins at me. "Ah, how I missed pretending to be pompous just to see you get all riled up. And it works every time. You never learn."

Standing here, seeing that familiar grin, something occurs to me: I _missed_ him. I didn't think about him too much when I was at Camp – maybe because I felt guilty that I let that silly little breakup ruin our friendship – but I still missed him.

A smile pulls at the corners of my lips. "Kyle?"

"Yeah?"

"I really missed you."

He makes a face and says, "You're not gonna hug me, are you? Cause you're all muddy and gross. So no hugging until you're squeaky clean." But then he reaches out and gives my hand a light squeeze. "I really missed you too."

Then, of course, he withdraws his hand and makes a show of wiping it on his jeans and pulling out hand sanitizer– I _knew_ he'd have some in his bag.

I roll my eyes, but for some reason I can't stop smiling.

* * *

As it turns out, mortals who can see through the mist have no problem navigating the Labyrinth. Currently we're walking in the direction of some place where I can bathe. I told Kyle that we should just head to the nearest exit, but he can be pretty stubborn sometimes. And he assured me that it was on the way to the entrance that will take us to downtown Toronto. I figure that's close enough to New York that I can find a way back to Camp without too much trouble. It's better than Alaska, at least.

While we walk, I ask him a few of the many questions that are floating around in my brain. Why did he come down here in the first place? How did he survive down here for an entire hour, let alone three, all by himself?

"I came because I knew you were in trouble," Kyle tells me, and at my incredulous expression he insists, "No, I really did. This guy appeared in my dreams and told me you were in danger. He said to look for a Greek delta which would take me into the Labyrinth and then I should follow my instincts until I found you."

I stare at him. "A guy appeared in your dream and told you to go into a deadly underground maze, and you _listened_ to him?"

"Sounds crazy, doesn't it? But he was really persuasive. Like, _really _persuasive." A thoughtful look steals over his face. "He was kinda strange, you know. He was wearing sunglasses even though we were in a movie theatre, and he kept reciting awful haikus. And then when I woke up I was holding this little piece of paper with a picture of a triangle on it, which I figured was the delta thing…" He trails off, glancing at me warily like he's afraid I'm going to declare him insane.

Instead, I groan, "That was Apollo, the idiot god of archery and music and really bad poetry. I can't believe he made you come down here. You could've been killed."

Far from looking upset, he seems incredibly relieved, probably because he's so used to people telling him that the things he's sees aren't real. I mean, he knew they were after I told him about demigods and stuff years ago, but I don't think he really got over thinking he was crazy.

The brown-haired boy shrugs his shoulders. "Maybe," he says, "but I always knew which way was the right way. I knew how to avoid the monsters and the traps. I just followed the brightness on the floor."

"The brightness on the floor," I repeat. Okay, maybe he is crazy.

"Must not be a demigod thing, I guess," he says, looking rather pleased with the idea.

"What about your uncle?" I ask him. "Will he freak out when you get back?" Because that's what he always used to do. If Kyle happened to be home five minutes after his ten o'clock curfew because the subway was delayed, his uncle would flip out and ground him for a week.

Kyle coughs slightly. "Well, uh, the thing is, Uncle Rick doesn't know I'm gone, you see."

"How could he not know you're gone? Doesn't he have Betsy follow you around everywhere? " Betsy is their Australian Shepherd. She's really sweet most of the time, but when Kyle tries to leave the house without permission she turns into a real menace. How she knows whether or not he has permission, I have no idea. I always figured it was better not to ask.

Kyle's face tightens. "Betsy was hit by a car a few months back."

"Oh," is all I can think to say. Gods, I don't know what to do in situations like this one. Damn my father and his socially ineptness that he passes on to most, if not all, of his kids.

Desperate to change the subject, I ask, "So how is your uncle going to react when you come back and he didn't even know you'd left?"

The pain on his face is replaced by a strangely sheepish expression. "Assuming I come back in the next few hours, he won't notice me come in." At my questioning glance, he admits, "I drugged him, okay?"

"You did _what_?"

"I drugged him." He quickly adds in a defensive tone: "It's not like the stuff I gave him is harmful or anything. It just knocks him out for like twelve hours."

I shake my head at him, but it's not like I have any right to say anything. I did the same thing to Cheryl a few weeks – or maybe months, for all I know – ago. "Then we better hurry, or he'll wake up before you get home."

"What do you mean? It's only been like an hour."

I do my best to explain how time works in the Labyrinth, how a few days can turn into a few weeks, how an hour in the Labyrinth might actually be an entire day on the surface.

"Shit." Kyle starts cursing under his breath.

I ignore this. "What day is it anyway?" After all, it's _probably _still the same day. If we're lucky.

…Which now that I think about it, I never am.

"November 25th," Kyle says. Then, grinning like he's just beaten 'The Subspace Emissary' in _Super Smash Bros Brawl _in one night, he adds, "Happy birthday."

* * *

It's my birthday. My _birthday_.

I've aged. I'm not nineteen anymore. I'm not even a teenager anymore.

I'm twenty.

I'm _old_.

…Okay, so I'm not actually old. It's not like I'm going to be wheeled into a senior home anytime soon. And now that I think about it, reaching twenty is a huge accomplishment for a demigod. It's like one of our major milestones. ("Huzzah! You've survived twenty years as monster bait! Good luck trying to survive twenty more!")

Still, I should be in college or university right now. Or at least in cabin nine, listening to Jake complaining about how unfair it is that I've only got one more year until I can legally consume alcohol (though if I was in Canada, I'd already be legal) while he's still got several years to go.

Basically, I should be anywhere but here, in the freaking Labyrinth, following my best friend that I haven't seen in several years who is following "the brightness on the floor".

Styx, my life is messed up.

It occurs to me suddenly that Kyle is twenty, too. I examine him closely for the first time. His acne is (mostly) gone, his body has kind of filled out, his head is held high and his shoulders are straight, his cheeks aren't chubby anymore and he actually looks like he needs a shave. He looks…well, not _hot_ or _gorgeous_, but he certainly hits the _handsome_ mark on the scale of attractiveness.

Holy Hephaestus. Whatever happened to that gangly, awkward, self-conscious fifteen year old I used to know?

_It's all right,_ I console myself. _He's still got the Pikachu backpack. He still looks like he dressed in the dark. His glasses still hang off the end of his nose. He still lives with his uncle and probably still has a ten o'clock curfew. He's just as nerdy as he ever was. _

"What are you staring at?" he asks, his eyebrows raised.

"You," I answer bluntly. "You've changed."

"So have you." Which is true. I have changed. He suddenly grins. "You're twenty now, Dess. You're _old_."

"I know," I moan pathetically. "Don't remind me."

"I was just kidding," he soothes. "We're the same age, so if you're old, that means _I_'m old. And I am _not_ old."

At a loss as to how to respond, I just mumble gibberish under my breath.

For the next ten minutes, we catch up, trading stories. He talks about his frosh week, and his classes, and the newest Zelda game, and the few girls he's dated. He rambles on for quite a long time about the drop-dead gorgeous Indian girl who just transferred into his Anthropology program. He confesses that she won't give him the time of day, but insists: "She's just playing hard to get. I totally caught her staring at my ass last week."

Then he tells me about what happened to our old high school classmates, about how the freakishly smart Ukrainian fraternal twins ended up at Dalhousie, and how little Jimmy went to college to become a nurse, and how druggie Dougie and slu– I mean, _promiscuous_ Sarah dropped out of school three weeks before graduation, ran off to Las Vegas and got hitched. (I think he might have made the last one up, but then again, Dougie and Sarah never had much sense.)

For my part, I tell him about a few of the times I've almost died. My first encounter with the climbing wall. (I think I might still have the burns somewhere.) The time Clarisse tried to drown me by sticking my head in the toilet. (She does that to all the new kids, and I was no exception; she thought I was scum on the bottom of her shoe until she saw me protect Isabelle from Sherman.) The incident where I stupidly told Dionysus that he must not be a very good wine god, considering he was always sober. (I swear I saw my life flash before my eyes that time.)

And then I tell him about the more serious things. The war that almost started when Zeus' Master Bolt was stolen. Thalia's tree being poisoned. Kronos' army. The reason I'm in the Labyrinth in the first place. The spy at Camp. But throughout all these stories, the one thing I never mention is my connection to Luke. Kyle doesn't need to know about that. …Probably.

"–and then the boar exploded and caused a cave-in and I got separated from Clarisse and she told me to go straight to Camp and not to try and find her, so I tried to find my way out but I had no idea where I was going and then you showed up and I was really shocked," I finish, gasping for air because I've been talking so fast without ever pausing.

Kyle stares. And stares. And stares some more.

"Dess," he says finally, "your life is really, _really_ messed up."

* * *

"Kyle, this is ridiculous."

"Is not."

"Is too."

"Is not."

"Is to– Oh, forget that. Can I _please_ take off the blindfold now?" I gripe, reaching up a hand to touch the knot at the back of my head.

Kyle smacks my hand away and continues to steer me in the direction of Zeus only knows what.

My definition of 'not fun'? Walking around in the Labyrinth without being able to see anything. I thought this place was terrifying before, but when you can't even see what might be coming for you, it's a million times worse. Every time I hear a noise my hand darts into my pocket to grab my anklet/sword.

Kyle doesn't seem to understand the effect several weeks – months, in real time – in the Labyrinth can have on a person's mental state. He acts like my constant panicking is ridiculous. He's treating this whole thing like some exciting adventure.

"Kyle," I begin, trying to keep my cool, "I don't think you understand how dangerous it is to be walking around the Labyrinth blindfolded. A monster could come out of nowhere and attack us at any moment, and in the time it would take me to get this stupid piece of cloth off my face, I'd be dead, and then you'd be next because you can't fight your way out of a paper bag."

"I can too," Kyle protests, sounding rather offended.

"Cannot."

"Can too."

"Can't."

"Can to– We're here!" Kyle announces suddenly. "You can take off the blindfold now."

"_Finally_."

As I reach up to undo the knot, I notice that I can feel steam or mist or whatever in the air, and that I can hear the sound of rushing water (which I try to ignore because it reminds me of Poseidon and his terrifying rage), and that everything smells sort of…earthy. And wet, too. Like the morning after a rainstorm, when there's dew on the grass and worms all over the sidewalk. It's been a long, long time since I've smelled anything like this.

When I at last tear the cloth away from my face and look around, my first thought is that this is the one of the most beautiful places I've ever seen.

My second thought is that it was so _not_ worth the blindfold.

Gritting my teeth, I say, "This was so not worth the blindfold."

"Bull. Shit," he replies, annunciating the words very deliberately.

Knowing better than to argue with Kyle about this, I examine my surroundings very closely. We're standing in the entrance of some sort of huge cavern. There's a massive waterfall flowing gently down into large pool of water, and there's steam all around us. What makes the view so amazing is that the rays of sunlight shining through cracks in the ceiling hit all the water vapour in the air and make rainbows appear everywhere.

If only I had a golden drachma right now. Then I could throw it into one of these rainbows and contact Chiron. But because my life is just doomed to suck, I don't have a golden drachma. However, thanks to Kyle I do have shampoo and soap. I figure the waterfall and the pool are basically just as good as any shower.

"Okay, Kyle, kindly hand me the shampoo and soap and get out."

He obeys, mumbling "So rude…" under his breath. I watch as he disappears through the entrance, his footsteps echoing throughout the cavern. I know him well to know that he won't venture too far away and thereby put himself in danger, but he also won't hover too near and try to catch a glimpse of me naked. Because if Kyle did that– well, let's just say that he wouldn't have to worry about his uncle's reaction to him sneaking out, because he wouldn't be there to see it.

* * *

More than an hour later (so I might've taken longer than strictly necessary; after all this time, can you really blame me?), I feel clean for the first time since Aphrodite gave me that makeover. When I'm dressed in fresh clothes (for some reason Kyle had jeans and a T-shirt and a jacket and other stuff my size in his bag; I chalk it up to his obsessive need to always be prepared for everything) and my old ones are stuffed in my bag, I walk toward the entrance to meet up with Kyle, but I'm only halfway there when he comes bursting through the mouth of the cave.

"We've got a problem!" he gasps, looking like he's just run a mile.

"What kind of problem?" I ask, instantly alarmed. I grab my anklet and undo the clasp. Kyle gapes when he sees the piece of jewellery elongate into a bronze sword, but then he recovers and says:

"I saw two people heading this way. I think they were demigods, because they were wearing armour and had swords like yours. Or at least," he adds, suddenly looking thoughtful as opposed to completely panicked, "one of them did. The other had one that looked really weird. Half-bronze, half-steel. Or something."

"Half-steel?" I repeat. Shit. This is not happening. "What did the demigod carrying that sword look like? Was it a guy?"

He nods. "Yeah, they were both guys. The one with the weird sword was blond, and he had a scar on his face. I take it he's not on our side?" Kyle asks upon hearing me release a string of swear words.

"We need to get out of here. Did he see you?" I demand, at the same time glancing around desperately for some sort of hidden passageway that will take us far, far away from here.

"Um," the brunette mortal begins, but before he can say anything else there's a loud, unfamiliar voice declaring, "I think he went this way!" followed by the sound of footsteps hurrying in our direction. Kyle gives me a sheepish look. "That would be a yes."

What the hell do we do? By now they must be close enough that if we leave the way we came in, they'll see us for sure. I could probably outrun them, but Kyle? No way. If we hid behind the waterfall, would they notice us? It's worth a try.

I'm about to grab Kyle's arm and pull him in the direction of the waterfall, when it occurs to me that the footsteps are too close and we'll never make it in time.

And suddenly all I can think is that I don't want him to know it's me, he can't _know it's me_.

I throw the hood of my jacket over my head a split-second before two figures appear in the entryway.

And then an all too familiar voice drawls, "Well, well. What do we have here?"

* * *

**Author's Note: Like I said in the first chaper, NO love triangles. Kyle and Dess dated once upon a time, but now they're just friends. Dess' relationship with Luke is messed up enough without adding in another serious (serious as in Kelli doesn't count) love interest.**

**Thanks for reading, reviews are appreciated.**


	26. We Meet the Embodiment of Pure Evil

**MAIN TITLE: The Keeper of Fate**

**WARNINGS: See first chapter for warnings.**

**NOTES: Thanks to **Richasa**,** CrazyHalf-Blood31**, **angel2u**,** chaSing b0b**, **Guest**, **Tired And Insprired**, **FadedSunset**, **TheMeg-hanSolo** and **XxVivIeNnexX** for reviewing this chapter!**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own the PJO series. Rick Riordan does.**

* * *

**Chapter 26: We Meet the Embodiment of Pure Evil**

I tighten my grip on the handle of sword, hand my bag to Kyle, and position myself directly between him and the two advancing half-bloods, making sure to hide my face as much as possible. I didn't have time to tuck my hair into my jacket, but I doubt the wet, slightly curled, nearly black locks that tumble down my shoulders will give me away. My voice might, though, so I keep silent.

Damn Kyle and his 'Girl, you stink! Let's get you to the nearest bathing area ASAP!' If he'd just listened to me instead of being his usual stubborn, OCD-about-hygiene self, we probably would've been out of the Labyrinth by now. I'd love to just stand here and mentally curse Kyle out with every swear word I know, but unfortunately that won't get us out of this mess.

Somehow, I have to do the impossible and fight off two armed members of Kronos' army, all the while protecting my utterly-useless-in-a-fight best friend and preventing Luke from finding out who I am.

Keeping my head down, I examine the unknown figure through my lashes. He's a couple inches shorter than Luke, pale to the point that he would make my brother Zeth, who avoids sunlight like his life depends on it, look tan in comparison, and so thin that he could probably be classified as skeletal. When he comes closer, I notice the haggard look on his face, the frightened gleam in his eyes. Everything about this boy screams 'FRAGILE'. Even the wicked bronze sword doesn't appear that threatening in his trembling hands.

Okay. Him I can probably handle. But Luke, who was known at Camp as the best swordsman in three hundred years, who once singlehandedly took down half the Ares cabin in a game of Capture the Flag and barely broke a sweat? I don't stand a chance against him. But maybe, if I'm really, _really_ lucky, I can hold him off long enough for Kyle to escape.

They stop a few metres away from us and the fragile boy loudly demands, as if he believes that increasing the volume of his words will make him sound intimidating, "Who are you two?"

I pray to the gods that Kyle will keep mouth shut. Wait– the gods! I completely forgot about them! Maybe we're not doomed after all.

_All right, Pops, I know I've been an ungrateful shrew to you for the last few years, but if there was ever a time to sic a couple of man-eating automatons on my enemies and save my ass, it would be _now_._

Predictably, nothing happens. The only other god I can think of that might even pay attention to my plight is Apollo, but he seems to be under the delusion that the best way to deal with a murderous psycho is to try to talk things out, so I don't think he'll be much help.

Luke smiles at me coldly. "I think you'll find it in your best interest to answer the question."

Like hell I will. I lunge at them, and the sheer stupidity of the action stuns both of them enough that they don't react in time to stop me from colliding with the shorter boy and sending him sprawling. I glance at Kyle over my shoulder and see his eyes light up in understanding. Then I turn my head back to Luke, my hair falling in my face and partially obscuring my vision, but not to the point where I'm unable to see his sword swinging right at me and block it with my own. Kyle darts around us and is almost at the entrance to the cave when Luke easily disarms me, sending my only weapon skittering to the edge of the pool, way out of my reach.

Luke holds his blade to my throat and addresses Kyle in a pleasant voice: "If you value this girl's life, you'll go stand over there with Peter–" He jerks his head in the direction of the other demigod, who has by now gotten back to his feet. "–where I can see you."

Luke's bluffing. He won't kill me until he's figured out who I am, how and why I'm in the Labyrinth, and if I have any useful information. But Kyle doesn't know that, and so his shoulders slump in defeat and he willingly walks to Peter's side and does not protest as the sickly-looking boy grabs his arms and holds them behind his back.

_You idiot! _I want to scream at him. _You were almost home free!_ Peter might have gone after him, but he doesn't look particularly strong and his weapon would just pass right through Kyle. But maybe Kyle wouldn't have been able to survive on his own in the Labyrinth, even with his extraordinary ability to find his way around. Shit. We'll be screwed if Luke finds out about that. He'll use Kyle to guide Kronos' army through the maze and straight to whatever entrance he's found within the Camp's borders – assuming there is one. And, since the Fates apparently hate me, there probably is.

Luke gives Kyle the once-over. "Mortal, from the looks of it. No idea who he is. You recognize him?" he asks Peter, who presumably shakes his head, because Luke then says, "Well, we'll figure that out later. I'm more interested in _her_."

He pushes back my hood, but my head is bent and my hair surrounds my face like a curtain. I can feel his breath on my ear as he whispers, "I'll ask you one more time, sweetheart. _Who are you?_"

Fed up and knowing that he'll just force me to look at him anyway, I brush the wet strands of hair out of my face and raise my head. I meet his gaze boldly and feel a sort of grim satisfaction at his expression of complete and utter shock.

"Dess?" he gasps.

In his stunned disbelief, he withdraws his sword a few centimetres. This is the time for me to strike, while he's still trying to process this startling turn of events. I knock the weapon out of his hand and it clatters noisily as it hits the ground.

He reacts instinctively, locking his hands around my wrists, gripping them so tightly that it hurts, so tightly that I know I won't be able to break free.

And my stupid, stupid, _stupid_ brain sees only one away out of this. My head is tilting upward and some small part of me is screaming, _Don't do it, don't do it! Just because it worked for Elizabeth Swann doesn't mean it'll work for you–_

But it's too late. I'm already kissing him.

* * *

For one heart-stopping moment he is completely motionless, his lips frozen against my own.

And then he releases his hold on my wrists and he is kissing me back with such wild, total abandon that I almost forget my plan, the reason I'm kissing him in the first place. For a second there is nothing but the familiar heat of his mouth on mine, and the palm of my hand pressed against his chest right above his rapidly beating heart, and his own hands slipping under my shirt and caressing the small of my back and pushing my body against his because close just isn't _close enough_–

"What the _hell_?" I hear the voice as though from very far away, but it's enough to bring me back to my senses. Luke, however, doesn't seem to even register the sound and simply continues to kiss me fiercely, one of his hands reaching for the clasp of my bra. Okay, I think it's time I put an end to this spontaneous make-out session.

I draw back my leg and then knee Luke in the balls so hard that he literally howls. I fling myself over to the pool and reach down to grab my sword off the ground. I straighten up just in time to see Kyle twist away from Peter, who is gaping at the doubled-over-in-pain Luke, and then elbow him in the face.

Now free, Kyle instantly runs to my side. He seizes my arm and hauls me toward the waterfall.

"Are you insane?" I shriek, digging my heels into the ground and trying to pull him in the direction of the cavern's entrance. "We have to get out of here!" Already Luke is struggling to get to his feet. Peter sprints over to help him up.

Kyle tugs on my arm. "Trust me!"

I hesitate for a split-second, and then follow him. When we reach the waterfall he pulls me behind it and starts examining the cave wall.

"Where is it, where is it…" he mutters.

"I don't know what the hell you're looking for, but hurry!" I shout at him.

Finally, when Luke and Peter are almost upon us, Kyle crows, "I found it!" and stabs the wall with his finger. Immediately, a doorway appears and Kyle yanks me through it.

We burst out into the cold, open air, and the sun is shining overhead and all I can think is, _Gods, I missed this. _Then I remember that we're being chased by Kronos' minions. I glance behind me and get one last glimpse of Luke's shocked and enraged face before the door seals shut. Daedalus' mark is nowhere to be found on this end, and hopefully it has vanished on Luke's side, too.

The full magnitude of what's just happened hits me. Not only have we escaped from Luke without revealing any vital information, we've also escaped the Labyrinth. We're free. _I_'m free. I never have to go back in there again. No more walking endlessly without a clue as to where I'm going. No more living in constant danger, terrified of my own shadow. I'm _free_.

"Kyle, we're free! We're out! We never have to go back in there ever again!" I throw myself into his arms and hug him tightly.

He hugs me back, but after a couple of seconds he gently pushes me away and says, "Yeah, we got out of there, but where did we end up?"

I stiffen. Crap. "I don't know," I say nervously. "Where do you think we are? Kyle, what if we're on the other side of America? How are we going to get back?"

"Okay, just calm down," he soothes. "Panicking will not help us. Look around. What do you see? What do you hear?"

I scan my surroundings. We're standing in the shade of a building made of gray bricks. There are trees to the right of us, most of them barren. Not surprising, since it's November. At first the cold wind felt good after the stale, perpetually warm underground air, but the longer I stand here the more I realize I'm freezing my butt off in this thin jacket. Judging by the position of the sun, I'd say it's almost noon.

I can hear a gaggle of voices from somewhere close by, and underneath that the roar of a waterfall. Kyle and I look at each other and silently agree on our next course of action. Reluctantly, I return my sword to anklet form and put it in the pocket of my jeans. We slip around to the front of the building to find just what we expected: a lot of people. A young woman pushing a stroller. An old married couple sitting on a bench. A middle-aged man with two identical little girls in pink coats babbling at him excitedly. A group of teenagers, some laughing uproariously, others glued to their phones or iPods or whatever.

Just innocent, harmless mortals enjoying their daily lives, but to me they all look vaguely menacing. Okay, so maybe I'm still afraid of my own shadow after all. I'm probably going to need a lot of therapy when I get back to Camp. And I _will_ get back. Somehow.

Kyle nudges my side and murmurs, "I'm going to go poke around that building, talk to some people, see if I can find out where we are. You stay here, okay?"

"No, I'll go with you."

He grimaces. "I don't think that's a good idea."

Offended, I ask, "Why not?"

"Dess, when was the last time you looked in a mirror?" I open my mouth to retort but Kyle just plows on. "Look, if I didn't know you and you approached me looking like that, I'd run away screaming."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" I practically snarl. "I just took a bath, I'm perfectly clean–"

He sighs. "That's not what I meant." If he notices the confusion on my face, he ignores it. "Look, it doesn't matter. Just stay _here_ and I'll figure out where we are."

He hands me our packs and walks into the building without another word. I plop down on the ground, setting the bags beside me, and cross my arms, stewing in silent rage. Why would people run away screaming at the sight of me? That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. For someone who always used to tell me that I needed to be more comfortable with who I am and how I look, he's not exactly doing wonders for my self-esteem. Which I happen to have quite a bit of now, but still.

For the next ten minutes I fantasize about beating Kyle to a pulp, and then a snort of derisive laughter breaks me out of my daydreams. I've been staring fixedly at a potted plant, but now I turn my head in the direction of the noise. Just as I expected, it came from a teenage girl. To my surprise, however, the girl is sneering at _me_. Really? Doesn't she have anything better to do? And she's not even trying to be subtle about it.

I lock eyes with her and stare her down. Probably she's at least sixteen, but for some reason she looks like a child to me, with wide eyes and a small face caked in makeup that screams 'I'm trying too hard to look grown-up!'. _Get over yourself, Princess,_ I say to her silently. _You think you're tougher than me? I've seen things you couldn't imagine in your wildest nightmares._

Now, here's the thing. My glares have never been very effective, even when I was dealing with the Aphrodite kids who spend most of their time worrying about trivial things like how their hair looks and what they'll do when their nail polish runs out. So when the girl pales, visibly shudders, and backs up so quickly she nearly trips, I'm beyond shocked. The girl, who is now very pointedly not looking at me, says something about a Nikola Tesla memorial to her friends and the majority of the teenagers walk away.

I frown to myself, trying to figure how I could have possibly scared her that much. Suddenly Kyle's words from earlier seem less like an insult and more like a matter of fact statement. I heave Kyle's bag into my lap and, completely disregarding his right to privacy, paw through it until I find what I'm looking for amidst all the junk. A plain, handheld mirror.

I hold it up in front of me and see myself for the first time in a long time. For a second all I can feel is indignation at Kyle, because I look fine, really. I should probably pluck my eyebrows and comb through my hair with something other than my fingers when I get the chance, but otherwise there doesn't seem to be anything about me that would send a stranger running in the opposite direction screaming their head off.

But as I continue to examine my face intently in the mirror, I start to see what Kyle meant. Yes, I'm mostly clean, but my hygiene isn't the problem. The problem is my eyes. The ferocity, the desperation, the wild gleam in them. I look like a wounded animal that is being hunted by predators and will snap at the slightest provocation.

I draw in a shaky breath and shove the mirror back into the bag. It's disturbing, to see myself looking like that. No wonder the girl was so frightened. Any civilized human being would be.

I go back to staring at the potted plant. I don't want to scare anyone else. Sooner than I expected, Kyle comes back. I scramble to my feet and open my mouth, but he answers my question before I can even voice it.

"New York," he says. "We're on Goat Island, in the Niagara River, right between the American side and the Canadian side of Falls. That building–" He jerks his thumb toward it. "–is the entrance to the Cave of the Winds, where you can take an elevator down to the base of the Bridal Veil Falls. Well, most of the time. It's not open now since it's winter."

I let out a sigh of relief. This is good. Very good. This is actually better than if we'd just gone straight to the downtown Toronto entrance. After all, there's no guarantee that it would still be there, and this way I don't have to cross the Canadian-United States border.

"And the date?" I ask.

"November 26th," he says mournfully. "I am so screwed. Uncle Rick is going to put bars on the basement window, chain me to them, and then lock me down there for the rest of my life."

I laugh. "That's a little harsh, don't you think?" Then I turn serious. "What do we do now? I don't know about you, but I don't have any money."

"You know my cousin Violet? The one that ended up in rehab?" I nod. I remember Violet. She's the reason Kyle's uncle is so over protective. He doesn't want what happened to his daughter to happen to his nephew. "Well, she's out now and she lives in New York– Brooklyn, to be specific. Works as a receptionist for some shady company, which is great for her because she spends all her time glued to her phone anyways."

"And I care because…?"

He looks at me like I'm remarkably stupid. "Well, since she lives in Brooklyn, she's close enough to come pick us up–"

"You're kidding, right? It'll take her like twelve hours to get here!"

"You're exaggerating," he sniffs. "It'll only take her about six."

I stare at him in disbelief. "You really think she'll be willing to drive for six hours just to pick up her bratty cousin and his friend?"

"Okay, first of all, if anyone's bratty, it's you. Secondly," he says loudly, drowning out my protests, "I already called her on a payphone. She's on her way right now."

To my shock, he actually seems to be telling the truth. "How on earth did you get her to agree?"

"Well you see, Dess," Kyle begins, grinning. "When you've lived with someone for more than ten years, you find you have an awful lotof blackmail material on your hands…"

* * *

For the next six hours, we wander around Goat Island and see pretty much every free attraction it has to offer, all the while freezing our butts off. We visit the memorial the makeup-happy girl mentioned to her friends. We check out the two American waterfalls and then head over to Terrapin Point to see the Horseshoe Falls, which I've seen several times before, but always from the Canadian side. Kyle has sandwiches and apples and water bottles in his bag, so we have that for lunch and dinner because 'Top of the Falls' sounds expensive and Kyle only has Canadian money, and not a lot of it either– just a twenty and some change.

We talk on-and-off throughout the day, but it isn't until after we eat dinner that Kyle brings up the incident with Luke.

"So," Kyle says, stretching his legs out in front of him and leaning back against the bench we're sitting on. "That whole 'kiss-the-enemy-to-distract-them' move that you totally stole from _Pirates of the Caribbean_– How did you know it would work?"

I freeze up, but then force myself to relax and reply, "What do you mean?"

"Come on, Dess, I'm not stupid." He smirks. "That guy obviously recognized you, and you must have some sort of history with him, because the second you kissed him he was all over you."

"Oh, shut up," I retort, the teasing grin on his face annoying me more than his words.

"No, seriously, I thought he was going to rip off all your clothes right then and there." He dodges my poor attempt to stomp on his foot, but doesn't react in time to stop me from punching him in the gut. Hard. "Ouch," he complains, rubbing the spot where I hit him. "Was that really necessary?"

"Yes." I glower at him.

He holds up his hands in surrender. "I'm just telling it like it is." And then he darts off the bench and out of my reach before I can strangle him.

* * *

The sky is dark by the time Kyle's cousin shows up. Six-hour drive my foot. It's been at least eight hours. I bet she stopped to flirt with every cute guy she saw. When I met her years ago she seemed like the type of girl who would do that. Normally I would whine about the extra two hour wait, but Violet already looks crazy angry when we climb into the back of the car, so I keep my mouth shut. Her multiple piercings (tongue, eyebrow, nose, etc.), the vicious way she chews her bubble-gum (like she's trying to tear through human flesh), and the crossbones tattoo on her shoulder blade (_why_ is she only wearing a tank top in the middle of winter? Is she insane?) do nothing to dispel her 'mad-enough-to-spit-fire' look.

"So." She sneers at Kyle in the rear-view mirror as she pulls out of the parking lot and turns onto the road that will take us off this island. "Mr. Goody Two-Shoes snuck out of the house to go to Niagara Falls with his girlfriend. How did you even get across the border?" When Kyle opens his mouth to respond, she snaps, "Don't answer that, I don't really care."

"I was only going to point out that Dess isn't my girlfriend," he says mildly.

"Well, good, because she looks absolutely rabid," Violet says disdainfully, as though I'm not sitting right there.

"I'm sitting right here, you know," I snarl at her.

"Whatever. Look, I may have agreed to drive you two losers around, but this is still _my_ car and you will obey _my_ rules."

She rattles off a list of rules, blatantly ignoring us whenever we interrupt to ask for clarification or protest the utter unfairness/ridiculousness of one of her rules. Rule one: she can say whatever crap she wants about us and we're not allowed to complain. Rule two: in her car, there will be no eating, drinking ("What about water?"), urinating ("Why the hell would we piss in your car?"), vomiting, or otherwise doing anything to sully the interior of her precious Ford Mustang. Rule three: we stop when she decides to stop, and we're not even allowed to ask her to stop. ("But what if one of us needs to use the bathroom? You just said you don't want us to pee in here.") Rule four: when she blows a bubble, there is to be total silence in the car lest we pop the bubble-gum bubble with our obnoxious voices. ("Okay, now you're just making stuff up.") Rule five: she controls the radio, end of story, and if the volume of the music happens to shatter our eardrums, well, that's not her problem. And on and on and on.

I stop paying attention somewhere around rule seventeen. I crash back against the seat and resist the urge to scream, which would be a violation of rule nine, and beside me Kyle mutters, "This is going to be a long ride."

* * *

**Author's Note: I've never been to Goat Island, and I got all the info off the internet, so some of it might be wrong. **

**Oh, and in case it wasn't obvious, the title of this chapter refers to Violet, not Luke or Peter. **

**Reviews are appreciated.**


	27. I See Big Brother Everywhere

**MAIN TITLE: The Keeper of Fate**

**WARNINGS: See first chapter for warnings.**

**NOTES: Thanks to **Richasa**,** Negrum Equitum**, **Tired And Insprired**, **angel2u**, **FadedSunset**, **chaSing b0b**, **OcToPiRsQuIsHy **and **LSU lovePurple liveGold **for reviewing this chapter**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own the PJO series. Rick Riordan does.**

* * *

**Chapter 27: I See Big Brother Everywhere**

A night at a hotel and about nine hours of 'driving' later, we pull up in a parking lot near Violet's apartment. I'm not exaggerating when I say I literally throw myself out of the car. That was absolute _torture_. Bubble-gum chewing, radio blasting, blabbing on her cellphone, griping to us about how we're damn lucky that it wasn't Black Friday yesterday or today because otherwise she would've just left us there. Not to mention her tendency to drive for three straight hours, then stop for washroom breaks or for food every fifteen minutes for the next hour, then drive for another three straight hours, then stop and spend almost half as long at Target because there's a _sale_. Never again.

Violet lets us into her apartment, which is an absolute mess, and then gets ready for work. Kyle and I sit on the edge of the couch in the living room, trying not to touch anything (Kyle because of how disgusting everything is, me because I'm afraid she might kill me), until Violet finishes transforming herself into a person who actually appears to be sane.

"All right, Kyle. My shift starts in two hours. You can stay here until I get back in the morning, and then we'll figure out how to get you home. As long as you make sure to tell Pa that _none_ of this craziness was my fault. As for you—" She throws a nasty glare my way. "—_you_ better be gone when I get back. You can use my washroom, you can eat my food—but stay away from my French vanilla ice cream!—and if you need money for a cab, you can have it. As long as you leave before I get back."

She sweeps out of the apartment and slams the door behind her.

"That was oddly generous of her," Kyle says, looking surprised.

I stare at him. "You're kidding me, right?"

"She could've just kicked you out," he points out.

"That's true," I admit grudgingly. "Well, I suppose I'd better take advantage of her unexpected hospitality."

And I do. I eat her pizza pockets ("The whole box, Dess, really? Do you know what she's going to do to me later when she finds out I allowed this?" Kyle cringes), and then hole myself up in her washroom for an entire hour and a half, using her shower and her tweezers and even a tiny bit of her make-up (some part of me shudders in horror), trying to do what she did. Trying to transform myself into a person that actually appears to be sane.

When I'm done, Kyle declares me passable. Then he calls a cab to drive me into Manhattan and gives me the necessary amount of money to pay for it, plus a worn coat that Violet never wears anymore. It's too big for me, but as long as it keeps me warm I honestly don't care.

We sit on the front steps of the building, trying to figure out how to say goodbye to each other. I don't know when I'll see him again. I don't know if I'll ever see him again.

I rest my head on his shoulder and he drapes his arm around me. Like we did when we were younger. When we were kids. When everything was so uncomplicated and we were so innocent. "Don't be a stranger this time, okay? I mean, it wouldn't kill you to phone me every once in a while."

My lips twitch upwards. "It might, actually. Demigod using a cellphone? Instant monster bait."

"Ah, that's right." He snaps his fingers. "I forgot. It's been a while since I've had to think about that kind of thing."

"So things got better after I left?" I try to make it sound like this doesn't bother me at all.

"Better?" he echoes. He considers this for a moment. "I suppose in terms of mythological beasts trying to eat me, yes, it got better. But I was completely miserable without you for the longest time, Dess. And I always felt bad about how we let that stupid breakup ruin our friendship."

"Same," I say ruefully. "I don't know why I ever thought it was a good idea to date my best friend."

Kyle shrugs. "It works for some people. It just didn't work for us. And I don't regret it, because we learned our lesson and now we'll never wonder about 'what ifs'."

I eye him incredulously. "When did you get so wise?"

"I was always this way," he brags. "You just weren't smart enough to notice."

I punch his arm just as the cab pulls up in front of the building. Kyle stands up and brushes invisible specks of dirt off his jeans. I grab my bag and take Kyle's offered hand. He pulls me to my feet and then into his arms. I hug him back with all my strength, but he doesn't complain.

After a couple of moments he releases me. "I know you said that calling me would be dangerous," he begins. "But call me anyway."

And I can't help but grin. "We'll see."

* * *

Sooner than I expected, I'm removing a sewer covering on a deserted Manhattan side street. I didn't think it was a good idea to have the cab driver take me right to the Camp's borders. Luke might have someone waiting to intercept me, to take me prisoner and try to get all the information I have about the Labyrinth. The best plan I could think of was to head to the entrance to the tunnel that leads to my underground room.

When I climb down the ladder into the tunnel, I find myself wishing I had just taken the cab directly to Camp. This place reminds me too much of the Labyrinth, with the stale air and the bedrock under my feet and the walls closing in all around me. I think I might be claustrophobic now.

I know I shouldn't, but I look for the Greek delta that first brought Clarisse and me into Daedalus' maze. It's there, exactly where it was months before. Just a tiny triangle. Three little lines. A shudder ripples through my entire body and I have to dig my nails into my arm to keep from screaming or throwing up.

It's just a mark. If I don't press it, nothing will happen. Nothing will happen. I'm never going back there. Never, _never_ again.

I walk down the tunnel but it's like I have eyes in the back of my head and they're locked on that little triangle that seems to be burning in the darkness.

And then I just can't take it anymore.

I start to run.

* * *

It doesn't take me even half as long to travel the length of the tunnel as it did last time, probably because I don't have to search every inch of the wall this time. Before I know it, I've slapped the button that opens the doorway to my room.

My room. I drink in the sight of it. It's familiar. It's safety. For the first time in months, I am actually, genuinely _safe_.

I glance at the desk. Was there always that much junk on it? Huh. Maybe I should clean this place up sometime. Finally I find what I'm looking for: the clock. The glowing lights read 10:48. My brothers are probably still awake, and I'm dying to see them again.

Something holds me back. I remember the teenager from the Falls. What if I scare my brothers like I scared that girl? I think of Jake. Jake who hugged me around the waist after Luke broke my heart, who screamed for me when that giant eagle was about to attack him—not Beckendorf, who is infinitely more capable in a fight than I am, but _me_. Because I'm the big sister. I'm the one who protects him and teases him and loves him to pieces.

What if the sight of me scares him? _Come on, Dess, he's not a little kid anymore,_ I chastise myself. _He fights monsters on a regular basis, and you think he's going to be scared of _you_?_

But still I can't find it in me to walk upstairs and reveal myself to them. _First thing tomorrow,_ I promise. _Tomorrow._

I curl up on the bed that I haven't slept in in more than a year, my anklet clenched tightly in my hand for reassurance, and, for the first time in a long time, fall seamlessly into dreamless sleep.

* * *

I wake up to pounding footsteps coming from somewhere above me. In an instant I'm on my feet, my anklet switching into sword-mode, looking for a place to hide from the enemy.

All I see are clothes on the floor and a desk piled high with garbage. I'm standing with one foot on Luke's old (clean) boxers.

Oh. Right. I'm back at Camp. Those noises I hear are probably from my brothers running around all over the place getting ready for the day. The clock says it's 7:53. Breakfast is at 8:00. Should I let them leave and find Chiron to report everything that happened (well, maybe not e_verything_…) instead?

No. No. These are my brothers. I'm not going to let myself be too scared to see them after all this time. Besides, they'd kill me if they found out I talked to Chiron before going to them.

I take a deep breath and press a button on the wall, making the door slide open. I peek around but no one seems to be down here.

I hesitate with my foot on the bottom step of the stairs for at least five minutes, and then force myself to keep going. The next thing I know I'm standing at the top of the stairs, staring at my brothers as they rush to put on their socks (Beckendorf—he's got an awful bruise on his face, maybe he's been dealing with violent mechanical horses again), or comb their hair (Zeth—was he always that big, or has he grown a couple of inches since I last saw him?), or slip mini dynamite sticks into their pocket (Jake—he really needs a haircut, his bangs are falling into his eyes). But no Gareth. He's out there somewhere in the mortal world. He's gone. Just like he told me he would be the day I set off on my quest.

Soon Zeth and Jake are ready to go, whereas Beckendorf is still sitting on his bed (Gareth's old one, the lucky bastard), examining his face in a large piece of reflective metal that functions pretty well as a mirror. None of them have noticed me yet.

I take a couple of steps forward as Jake, who has his back to me, says, "Beckendorf, we have to go. Stop checking yourself out, you're not going to suddenly transform into Silena's dream guy."

Our new esteemed head counsellor goes beet red. "I wasn't— I was just trying to see if my bruise had faded—"

"You know," I say casually, "I have trouble believing that."

Beckendorf drops his makeshift mirror, Zeth's mouth falls open and Jake spins around so fast he nearly trips.

"Hi," I say.

For a second they just stand there, frozen in shock. To my surprise, Zeth is the first to snap out of it. He smiles and says, "Welcome home, Dess."

Jake launches himself at me in a hug and almost knocks me to the ground, but I don't care. He clings to me for so long that Beckendorf finally has to pry him off me, at the same time saying, "Hey, man, it's my turn." And then he picks me up and swings me around in a circle like I'm a little girl and I'm laughing so hard that I think I might be crying. Zeth is last and his hug is brief, but when he pulls away he says, "I missed you."

"We all did," Jake adds. "Especially on your birthday. I had this really cool prank planned out and I never got to use it. Couldn't you have gotten back a couple of days earlier?"

I roll my eyes. "Yeah, that was high on my list of priorities. Get back in time for my birthday so that my baby brother can prank me."

"I'm not a baby," he protests, but he's grinning.

Then we hear the conch shell. It's been so long since I've heard it that I have to smile. "All right," I say, "You guys better go to breakfast. Tell Chiron that I'm waiting at the Big House, but try to make sure no one hears you." I pause for a moment, and then ask a question I'm dreading the answer to. "Is Clarisse back?"

Beckendorf grimaces. "No," he says, and my spirits plummet. "I heard from Mark that she sent an Iris-message to Chiron a few days ago, though. She said she'd gotten separated from you. We were really worried."

"Well, I'm not the one you should've been worried about, apparently." I remind myself that if I can make it, than Clarisse can too. "Now get going, or you'll be late and who knows what Mr. D will do to you."

"Fine," Jake groans. "But you'd better be around later. I want to hear everything about your quest."

Yeah, not likely. But I smile and nod anyway.

* * *

I'm not waiting in the Big House for very long before they appear. Chiron hugs me and over his shoulder I can see Mr. D sneering at me. When the centaur lets me go we head to the rec room. I drag a chair to the Ping-Pong table and sink into it wearily.

"Beckendorf said something about an Iris-message from Clarisse?" I ask.

"Yes, but we still want to hear your story," Chiron requests.

So I begin my story, at first telling them things they've probably already heard from Clarisse. How impossible it was to navigate the Labyrinth, how we ended up in Louisiana in a matter of days and found that more than a month had passed had passed, how we found that underground base and looked at all those maps and read all those reports and eavesdropped on Luke and Kelli's conversation, how we ran into the Oneiroi and Poseidon saved us, how I got separated from Clarisse.

For the most part Chiron just nods occasionally and says nothing, but he raises his eyebrow when I mention something that Clarisse clearly didn't tell him, like the fact that the spy at Camp is a son of Ares or that Clarisse stole Chris' report, and when I'm very obviously leaving something out that Clarisse already told them, like the fact that Kelli mentioned me to Luke or that Poseidon threatened me.

Mr. D looks utterly bored the entire time, except for three instances: when I mention that Daedalus might still be alive, he snorts in disbelief; when I tell them Poseidon's theory about how Morpheus might willingly/unwillingly be working for the Titan Lord, his expression turns grim; and when Chiron asks me to recount everything I can remember from the reports I read and I say the name Beaujolais Gillette, he narrows his eyes dangerously in barely supressed fury, making me honest-to-Zeus afraid for my life.

I hesitate when they tell me to continue the story from after I parted ways with Clarisse. The thing is, they're both so old, they know pretty much everything. (Not that I would ever admit that to either of them.) They must've known that clear-sighted mortals can navigate the Labyrinth, but they never said anything about it and the only reason they wouldn't is if they didn't want mortals guiding us through the maze. It must not be acceptable, which means I'll get in trouble if I admit that Kyle helped me get back. And besides, if I told them about Kyle, I'd be forced to explain why Apollo was so interested in keeping me alive that he visited a mortal boy in his dreams and convinced him to venture into Labyrinth to rescue me.

So in the end I say that I wandered aimlessly until I ran into Luke and that other demigod, Peter. I tell them that I fought Peter off easily because he was so weak, and that I tricked Luke (though I don't mention how) and then happened to find Daedalus' mark, which allowed me to escape both the demigods and the Labyrinth itself. I say that I surfaced in Manhattan and used the Hephaestus tunnels to get back.

It's clear that they know I'm lying through my teeth, but surprisingly, neither of them calls me on it. Instead, Chiron asks me questions about Peter, and from my answers he determines that the boy is Peter Walters, the son of Nike who disappeared from Camp about a year or so ago. I realize that I recognize the name from one of the status reports. Peter Walters… He was the one that was exploring the Labyrinth and ended up halfway across the country with no idea how he got there. Then he apparently ended up in some rehabilitation program, and his report said that he was mostly stable and that soon he was supposed to "return for duty"…

Gods, no wonder he looked so— so— so _broken_, I suppose is the right word. Poor kid probably lost his mind down there, and the first thing his superiors did when he was finally on his way to recovering from that horrible place was send him back. If I ever needed any more evidence to prove that joining Kronos's army is wrong, this would be it. You have to be really messed up to do that to someone.

Maybe the gods are bad, but they aren't _that_ bad.

"So," I say finally, after the silence has gone on for too long. "How was Clarisse doing when she Iris-messaged you?"

"As well as can be expected, given the circumstances." Chiron sighs. "I don't know how long she can survive down there on her own, but she insisted that no one be sent in after her, and—"

"I for one quite agree," Mr. D interjects. "The less brats running around this godsforsaken place, the better."

I stand up. I'm boiling over with rage. "What is _wrong_ with you? She'll _die _if we leave her down there!" Then I suddenly laugh bitterly. "But you don't care. Of course you don't. Why would you, when you don't even care that someone is going completely insane when you could cure them with a snap of your fingers, when you didn't even care that your own daughter was there day after day after day, just waiting, _praying_ to be claimed—"

There are vines wrapped around my neck before I can even blink, and I'm absolutely certain that this time I've gone too far, this time Dionysus really is going to kill me. I don't know how Chiron manages to talk him out of it, but somehow he does. The vines release me and I collapse onto the ground, gasping for air. The god literally blows the door off its hinges and then leaves without looking back. Chiron sighs and says something about going to get some sort of tonic for my throat before he too exits the room, although much more calmly.

And I'm left there on the floor, still shuddering uncontrollably, wondering if the gods really are the lesser of two evils.

* * *

Afterwards, it's decided that we'll wait until the Winter Solstice has passed to even think about sending people into the maze to: A, retrieve Ariadne's string; and B, rescue Clarisse, assuming she isn't back by then. I'm worried about Clarisse, but at the same time I'm so relieved that I don't have to go back in there. Like, ever.

When the quest to find the string and the lost daughter of Ares finally comes around, I won't be on it. Chiron promised. He said something about how he's eventually going to recruit Annabeth to do research, and I'm sure he'll probably end up giving the quest to her because there's no way she'll let him give it to anyone else once she knows about it.

I'll try to tell her what it's really like in there, but I know she won't listen to me. She's too stubborn. But maybe she'll actually be able to handle it all, because she's not like me.

She really is a hero, whereas I was just playing pretend.

* * *

It's not easy for me to adjust back to life at Camp.

I sleep with my weapon in reach every night, and one morning when Jake decides to jump on me to wake me up, I nearly slit his throat. He learns his lesson after that, but I still haven't forgiven myself.

I keep biting my nails. I never used to bite my nails. Now I can't stop.

Despite my resolution to finally clean my underground room, at first I can't bring myself to go down there because I start hyperventilating halfway down the stairs.

I can't stay in the shower for more than ten minutes or else I have a mini panic attack.

During Capture the Flag, every time I hear a twig snap I'm convinced a monster, or at least a fellow camper on the opposite team, is coming for me.

I can't be around people for long periods of time, not even my brothers. I just wind up either feeling incredibly drained or convincing myself that everyone around me is watching me. (That might just be a sign on a ridiculously large ego, but somehow I doubt it.)

Eventually I manage to tame my extreme paranoia—for the most part. I slowly begin to resemble the girl I was before, but I still find myself a lot more isolated than I used to be, and I still have nightmares that leave me thrashing around, screaming at the top of my lungs.

After the first couple of weeks, I force myself to deal with my fear of my underground room. I clean out the place but for some reason can't find it in me to throw out most of Luke's old junk, so it all ends up in a cardboard box shoved under my desk. I start sleeping down there almost every night so that I won't wake my brothers up all the time.

All in all, life is okay. I'm getting used to not being in life-threatening danger every second of every day. I'm getting used to everything being normal—or as normal as things can be at Camp Half-Blood.

And then one chilly December morning, a flying school bus plunges into the canoe lake and my life is once again thrown into chaos.

* * *

**Author's Note: Not sure whether Chiron and Dionysus actually knew that a mortal able to see through the mist would be able to find their way around the Labyrinth, but regardless, Dess should've said something. Probably could've saved Percy and co. a lot of trouble. **

**Reviews are appreciated. **


	28. The Hunters Ride the Magic School Bus

**MAIN TITLE: The Keeper of Fate**

**WARNINGS: See first chapter for warnings.**

**NOTES: Thanks to **Richasa**,** XxVivIeNnexX**, **TheAnnoyingOne97**,**chaSing b0b**,** angel2u**, **FadedSunset**, **Priscilla X. Silver**, **LSU lovePurple liveGold**, **Nephthys835**,** miramisa90212**, **fearless0601**, **FluffyDarcy-X-X-X**, **sexichick** and **erbERB **for reviewing this chapter!**

chaSing b0b **mentioned that I should put a recap of the story in, so here it is.**

**Brief Summary of Keeper of Fate: Dess, a daughter of Hephaestus, is asked by Apollo to defy the Great Prophecy in order to save lives. She agrees. She grows close to Luke, and then Percy Jackson shows up. Percy exposes Luke as the lightning thief and Luke leaves Camp after asking Dess to join Kronos' army, which she refuses to do. Thalia is freed from her tree and Dess and Clarisse wander into the Labyrinth in order to get info on how to navigate it and on Luke's plans. They get separated and Dess, with the help of her mortal ex-boyfriend, finds her way out of the maze and back to Camp. Just as she is starting to readjust to Camp life, crazy stuff happens.**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own the PJO series. Rick Riordan does. The chapter title and the stuff about the magic school bus and Ms. Frizzle are all references to the kid's cartoon The Magic School Bus.**

* * *

**Chapter 28: The Hunters Ride the Magic School Bus to Camp**

When Jake bursts into Cabin Nine babbling about a school bus in the canoe lake, of course Beckendorf, Zeth and I automatically assume he's trying to pull some kind of stupid prank. But he's not.

By the time he's dragged us down there against our will, all of the passengers are off the bus and on dry land. Most of these passengers are clothed in silver. Hunters.

_Damn it, _I inwardly curse. Never thought I'd have to see them again. But there they are. Zoë Nightshade with her silver circlet and her right-hand…well, man wouldn't be appropriate, considering Phoebe's a girl like all the rest of those sexist twits.

What are they even doing here? When they brought me to Camp years ago they refused to pass through the barrier created by Thalia's tree—they said they most likely wouldn't be welcome because their last visit had turned out to be a disaster. (Later, I heard rumours about them burning cabins down by _accident_. Right.)

I search the group for Artemis, but instead my eyes fall on another Greek deity. Apollo. Exuding a golden, almost blinding glow, like he's trying to counter all the silver. That must be torture for him, being surrounded by all those eternal maidens that probably despise him.

Or maybe not. Maybe he doesn't care either way. I can picture him flirting with them, but it's not like he actually wants to get in their pants. After all, despite the fact that mentally most of them are way older than I am, physically they've barely reached puberty.

It's weird, though. The Hunters here but no sign of Artemis, only her twin brother. Would she really trust her perverted, conceited brother with a bunch of pre-teen girls, even if he doesn't actually want to get lucky with them?

I'm puzzling over all this when Beckendorf wonders aloud, "What are Percy and Grover doing with them?"

Percy and Grover? Yes, there they are, standing amidst all those immortals. And not just them. Thalia, too, and some scrawny kid that's bouncing on the balls of his feet and looking around excitedly like he's in Disneyland or something. He must be a half-blood if Apollo brought him here. We'll see how long his enthusiasm lasts. Probably 'til he meets Mr. D.

The Hunters are headed in our direction and I tense, expecting some kind of confrontation (they weren't exactly fond of me when we were travelling together), but all that happens is that some of them throw scornful glances at my brothers. No one stops or acknowledges me at all.

Maybe they don't remember me, or they just didn't notice me standing there surrounded by people they consider the scum of the earth solely because those people happened to be born with a Y chromosome. (I was always pretty bad in school, but even I can remember X plus X equals female and X plus Y equals male.) Or maybe the Hunters do remember me and they did notice me, but I'm just not worth their time.

Grover is trailing along behind them and prattling on like a lovesick fool. Juniper's going to be pissed if she finds out about that, even though she's not technically dating the satyr. Percy, Thalia and the boy that looks like he's on a sugar high are still with Apollo, who calls out, "Take care, sweethearts!" after the Hunters and then looks directly at me.

I scowl at him. He grins back.

_Game on, sweetheart. _I recoil slightly, mostly because I didn't expect to hear Apollo's voice in my head, but also partly because he used the same endearment on me that he just used for the Hunters. Asshole.

Game on? What? I'm hoping for some clarification, but of course he turns his attention back to the black-haired trio standing of front of him. He winks at Percy and says something to him, then hops onto the bus that I assume belongs to him, because who else would own a flying school bus? Other than Ms. Frizzle. Who isn't real. Probably. Hopefully. I can handle Greek myths coming to life, but not a character from a kid's cartoon.

Soon enough, the bus has transformed into some red car that has all my brothers practically drooling, and then Apollo and his magic school bus/apparently drool-worthy red car vanish into the sunlight.

I'm practically dying of curiosity—this whole situation is just so strange, and _where's Annabeth?_—but Beckendorf just shrugs his shoulders and heads to the outdoor forge by the Armoury. Zeth mutters something inaudible under his breath and then slinks back to the cabins. Jake wiggles his eyebrows at me in a 'let's-go-cause-complete-and-utter-chaos' sort of way.

I'm not really in the mood to pull a prank, but when I tell Jake that he says, "Not even on the Hunters?" and I suddenly find myself very much in the mood to wreak havoc.

* * *

Even though Jake and I must have done the 'rig-the-showerhead-with-a-substance-that-is-mildly-offensive-to-the-victim' thing at least twice before, that's the prank we pull on the Hunters. We use a really strong-smelling alcohol that we get from an Apollo camper who is old enough to drink. Most of the Hunters are ridiculously uptight and abstain from anything remotely enjoyable, not just sex, so being sprayed with booze will annoy them to no end. Plus Dionysus is going to be super pissed at them when they show up for breakfast or lunch or dinner smelling like his own personal forbidden fruit.

After we've prepared everything there's really nothing for us to do except wait for our prank to unfold, so we head back to our cabin where we find Zeth and Beckendorf, who informs us that tomorrow we're all playing Capture-the-Flag—Campers vs. Hunters.

I really, really don't want us to lose to them for like fiftieth-plus time, but apparently Jackson and Thalia are co-captaining our team. Which just spells disaster, if you ask me. I mean, they're friends, and they get along well enough. But sometimes they're so similar that they just—_clash_, I guess.

Though maybe I'm wrong. It's not like I've seen the two of them interacting with each other that often. Despite the fact that we've been going to the same Camp for two summers, I haven't spent much time in Percy's presence. If he wasn't like, famous or whatever, he'd just be another random stupid kid whose face I recognized, but whose name I didn't. And I'm pretty sure that's how he knows me. By sight, not name. I prefer it that way, though, so it really doesn't matter.

Half an hour later, after I've constructed a laser pointer out of various materials found in the cabin and have started flashing the beam all over the place out of lack of anything better to do, someone knocks on the door.

My brothers and I all look at each other. The boys are all busy doing something that's actually productive instead of just killing time, so it should really be my responsibility to answer the knock. I suddenly feel Gareth's absence very strongly, because no one barks at me to get off my lazy ass and walk the few feet to the door to open it.

I start to get up, but then reconsider. "Gah, forget that, it's too far."

Zeth lets out an exasperated sigh, Beckendorf rolls his eyes, and Jake laughs at me.

"Dess, you're awful."

"Maybe so," I reply, shrugging, "but I'm still not answering that door."

Muttering profanities under his breath, Zeth puts down his latest project, strides across the room and yanks the door open.

It's Thalia. She peers around Zeth's hulking form and stares at me pointedly, like I should've somehow instinctively known that she was looking for me.

"All right, all right, I'm getting up," I grumble. I pocket my laser pointer, grimace at my brothers, and follow Thalia until she comes to a stop at her tree.

She sits down at the base and gestures for me to do the same, so I plop down beside her and ask her what she wants.

As it turns out, she wants to exchange information. I tell her about the weeks I spent in the Labyrinth, and she'll tell me what the Hades is going on with the Hunters and Apollo and that weird hyper kid.

I give her a general summary of my quest, leaving out anything I don't want her to know, and she looks relieved to hear that I didn't off Luke despite having encountered him twice. I still can't believe she thinks I'm capable of that—actually, physically ending someone's life, and actually defeating Luke in battle. She's got a lot of misplaced confidence in my fighting ability.

Then she tells me about her day so far, and it's all so insane that I'm not sure I believe a word she's saying.

"Let me get this straight," I say when she's finished her explanation. "Grover had you, Percy and Annabeth join him for some military school dance because he'd found two half-blood siblings that were being watched by some creepy vice-principal that was actually a manticore, the Hunters showed up and saved your butts, and Annabeth fell off a cliff and vanished? And then the sister—Bianca, did you say her name was?—joined the Hunt, and Artemis ran off to chase some ominous beast and had Apollo bring you guys to Camp?"

"Yeah, that's basically it," she says.

I stare at her, then shake my head. "That's crazy. So how old are those new kids?"

"Bianca's twelve—not that that matters anymore, considering she's never going to age. Nico's ten, I think."

"Ten?" I echo. Styx, I'm a decade older than the kid. "And his sister just left him and joined the Hunt? Just like that?"

"Yes," Thalia says grimly. "Nico might look all happy-go-lucky right now, but trust me, he was really upset when she joined. I'm sure he still is."

"No kidding," I murmur. "Talk about betrayal, just up-and-abandoning her brother like that… But it's none of our business," I suddenly recall. "What about Annabeth, where do you think she is?"

"If I knew, I'd be on my way there right now," Thalia answers, her electric eyes flashing, and I don't doubt her for a moment.

* * *

Thalia and I eventually go to the dining pavilion for dinner, and before we split up to sit at our respective tables, Thalia points out Bianca to me.

When I'm seated at table nine I glance back-and-forth between the newest Hunter and her brother. I can definitely see the resemblance. Black hair, olive skin, dark eyes. Bianca's smile looks really different, though. Maybe because it's genuine, whereas Nico is probably just faking for the Stoll brothers. How could he possibly smile for real when his sister's not sitting there with him?

Anyway, what do I know? I've never even talked to either of them.

It's weird and more than a little annoying to have the Hunters here. The pavilion was practically empty yesterday, because so many campers go home during the school year. It was just me, my brothers, Silena, Cheryl, two other Aphrodite kids (I think their names are Jason and Lauren or something), Mark, Sherman, Isabel, and three campers from the Hermes cabin (Travis, Connor and Althea, a young girl that arrived at camp a few years ago and still hasn't been claimed) which is a ridiculously low number for them.

Now we have to sit here and listen to the Hunters apparently having the time of their lives while the rest of us are either sulking or bored out of our minds. Both options apply to me.

Afterwards, Chiron welcomes the eternal maidens and announces the Capture-the-Flag game that will take place tomorrow night. Not so excited about the Hunters being here, but the chance to finally beat them makes up for it. Provided Percy and Thalia aren't too busy arguing with each other to lead us to victory.

I notice Isabel, sitting in her wheelchair at the Ares table with her brothers, looks a little wistful. She won't be participating. She can't anymore.

Finally, Chiron dismisses us and we all head back to our cabins. I slip downstairs to my underground room and crawl under the covers, tossing and turning until I finally manage to shake off the phantom warmth of my former lover stretched out beside me.

* * *

I dream that I'm standing on a balcony, and when I turn around I find myself face to face with Luke and a man sitting in throne-like chair in the shadows. I freeze, terrified, but they're frozen, too, like statues. I back up until I feel the cool metal of the balcony railing pressed up against my back.

Who is this man? What's wrong with Luke, why is he so pale and why does his scar look as though it's recently been reopened? What are they waiting for? I know they're waiting for something. I am, too, but I have no idea what.

The railing behind me abruptly vanishes, and then I'm falling backward, tumbling through open air. When I land I feel nothing. No impact, no pain.

I pick myself up off the ground and glance up at the balcony. Luke and the other man are still motionless, but I'm afraid they might spring to life at a moment's notice, so I hurry to the exit door. I wander through corridors and exhibits—I'm in a museum? What is Luke doing in a museum?—until I end up in room with the remains of a T-Rex.

I used to go on field trips to the Royal Ontario Museum sometimes when I was in school, and no matter what grade I was in someone in the class always insisted on going to see the dinosaur exhibits. While I was never as fascinated by dinosaur bones as the other kids (wow, really old bones, big deal), I certainly wasn't afraid of them.

But now as I stare at the T-Rex's sharp teeth, I'm filled with overwhelming dread. There's something wrong. Those aren't normal dinosaur teeth. For reasons I can't explain, they remind me of death.

The next thing I know I'm racing to find the museum's exit. I burst into the sunlight and sprint down the museum steps. I've already crossed the street by the time it occurs to me that I have no idea where I am.

I wander aimlessly like I'm back in the Labyrinth and eventually come to a stop when I reach a huge building labeled: NATIONAL AIR AND SPACE MUSEUM.

I still don't know where I am, but I do know that I don't like this city. Too many museums. Those field trips to the ROM always bored me to tears.

I wonder if I'm going to have to go inside, but before I can take even one step closer, I wake up.

I'm tangled in the bed sheets and sweating like crazy. I keep my eyes closed. You know how when you stare at the sun or a really bright light for too long, you get little spots on the inside of your eyelids? Well I have those right now, but the spots are grouping together to form a word.

Smithsonian.

I don't even know what that is. That word is not in my vocabulary, but it's burning bright on the inside of my eyelids.

I know Apollo has something to do with this. _Game on,_ he said yesterday.

I still don't know what he meant, and I don't know what Smithsonian means, but I know that I'm going to have to find out what city those two museums were in.

That, I'm absolutely certain, is where the game begins.

* * *

**Author's Note: Reviews are appreciated.**


End file.
